Carryin' the Banner
by RedKaddict
Summary: Bruce brings three orphans to live with him, but they learn his secret and become entangled in the dark life he tried so hard to hide from them. They each encounter their own challenges as they carry the banner alongside him – the Legacy of Robin. 1 of 5.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** I know the timing doesn't match up, but if you set Batman back some years and (yes, go against historical accuracy) bump the newsies' strike up a couple years, it's relatively plausible. I'm shocked (and honored) to learn that this is the first story of its kind.

Also, there will be absolutely NO SLASH, IMPLIED OR OTHERWISE in this fanfic. Just good ole fashioned friendships. Please enjoy. And believe me when I say that this story is indeed going somewhere. It just might take me a while to get there...

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Carryin' the Banner

**Prologue**

"Naw…" And all I could do was stare at him. I thought he was joking. I honestly thought he was just pulling my leg. "Naw. Yer kiddin'.

"No, Race."

They ask me all the time. "Why'd ya do it, Race?" they says. "Why'd ya leave?" But the thing is, see, I ain't the only one as went with him. I'm just the only one that stuck it out and stayed. I stuck it out because… Well, because I didn't believe him. We all thought it was some kinda real elaborate joke or somethin', and me… I wanted to know the truth about him for once.

"Naw. No. No, no, no. You're… But… But what about Santa Fe?" And no accent. Where'd his accent go?

"I've been to Santa Fe. There's nothing out there for me. Or here."

We paused a minute and faced off. He knew what he'd said. At the moment, I wasn't sure what hurt more – the fact that we meant nothin' to him after all, or that he'd kept this from us the whole time. Francis Sullivan, Jack Kelly… Just who da heck was this joker, anyways?

"So why'd ya come back, den?" I asked at last. "Huh, Cowboy? Why bodder comin' back?"

He didn't answer for a good while. Just kinda looked at me, up-and-down like. Scrutinizin'. "For the orphans," he says. "My parents were killed when I was young-"

"Save it," I says. "Lotta orphans here, Cowboy. Ya think yer story's worth more'n ours? We's alla us worse off'n dem rich folks. But not you, right?" I turned to leave. "T'ought ya said there was nothin' here for ya, anyways."

This time he answered right quick. "That's why I'm not _staying_, Race. Look, I know some of you kids are too proud to accept charity. But I also know some of you are fed up with life out here. I wanna help. That's why I came back. Anybody who wants to is welcome to go with me."

I shrugged some, shifted my feet. For some reason I couldn't look him in the eye right then. He'd hit it on the nail, alright. Bunch of us was feelin' a little bit abandoned when he'd took off a couple years back. This news just made it that much worse. After all that, he hadn't even needed to earn his way out like the rest of us.

"Racetrack." He tried to shake me outta my thoughts. Didn't need to. I wasn't that deep in 'em, I just didn't know what ta say. Or did an' didn't want to. "Race, I want you to go with me. There's nothing here for you, either. I've already talked to Spot and Blink. They're coming."

"Good for dem." I could feel my voice shake, so I didn't dare say anything more.

"So?"

"So what?" I said, shruggin' some more. I still wouldn't look at 'im.

"You comin' or what?"

And that's when I heard it. It wasn't that he didn't care 'bout us. Just that he cared about somethin' else more. Somethin' big. And for some strange reason, somethin' inside me wanted to be a part of it. After all, he was right. There wasn't nothin' there holdin' me back. Two a my friends was goin' with. And I'd finally get the answer to prolly the biggest question ever asked: Who is the real Jack Kelly?


	2. Orphans

**Author's note:** Normally I like my chapters to be at least 1k words long each. But I was already struggling to squeeze this much out. Anyway, I figured it'd be okay since I'm posting both the prologue and the first chapter together.

Feel special. I almost did this entire story in Racetrack's POV, complete with accent. But then I realized that writing an entire story like that would get on my nerves, especially with the grammar. So from now on each chapter will merely start from his POV. Oh, and I've started pickin' up da accent in my normal ev'ry day speech as a result a dis, so's you better be happy 'bout it...

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**Chapter 1: Orphans**

_When Spot, Blink, and I stepped outta dat fancy automobile at the end of our long trip, we was met wit somethin' none of us ever thought we'd see. Well, maybe we'd seen our fair share peddlin' papes, but certainly not from the inside. I'm talkin' 'bout one o dem iron fences. The real fancy kind as goes alla way round a really big yard. Sure, there's a few on the edges of Queens, an' abouts. But like I's sayin', none of us'd ever seen one from inside._

"_Lorda mercy," I whispered as I pulled my cap off my head. Spot didn't say nothin'. Blink's mouth was hangin' open. Cowboy – I couldn't rightly remember what he said his real name was – he just kinda stood there an' grinned at us. By golly, was dat house ever big! Already we was startin' to forget bein' lied to…_

_* * *_

Bruce Wayne stood and stared at it. Just _stared_ at it for a moment. Everything was exactly the way he remembered it. Visually, of course. There had been some… improvements made, a few things put in that hadn't been in the building he had grown up in. Somehow, he loved it all the more for that fact. This was not his father's mansion. This was _his_.

"Lorda mercy." He turned to see the three boys standing behind him, staring wide-eyed and gaping at the mansion, and couldn't help but grin. Racetrack had taken his hat off and was holding it in both fists, almost reverently. Kid Blink – having only one eye to stare out of – had his mouth hanging wide open. Spot Conlon was completely silent.

Spreading his arms wide, Bruce stepped into their line of view to get their attention. "Welcome home, boys." He swept a hand in the general direction of the house. "This is your home now, all of it," he went on. "Nothing's off limits, you can go anywhere you like on the grounds."

Racetrack finally shook himself out of his trance and ran a hand through his dark hair, a little self-consciously. "S-so," he started, stuttering a little. "Anywhere, huh?" Bruce nodded. "Where we be sleepin'?"

"Anywhere you like. You can each have your own room, if you want. Or there's plenty of room for you all to fit in one comfortably."

"More so'n the lodging house?" Blink asked incredulously.

"Much more so. Either way, it's up to you." With that, he turned and led the way to the enormous front door, talking as he went. The boys quickly fell into line beside him. "If you need anything," he was saying, "just ask Alfred. Kitchen's on the first floor in the back, though, if you feel the need to help yourselves."

As they stepped inside the expansive foyer, he paused and let them look around, though they all stayed rooted to the floor just inside the doorway. "My room's the third on the left down the hall at the top of the stairs," he said, pointing to a grand flight of marble steps sweeping away to the right. "Now, that room _is_ off limits at ridiculous hours."

Blink's snicker was met with a smack from Racetrack's hat. Spot brought his cane up to rest casually on his shoulder, initial shock clearly dissipating. "So," the Brooklyn ringleader said at last. "You expect us ta work?"

"Not at all," Bruce answered immediately. "Like I said, Alfred is here to provide anything you want." He paused a moment, considering, then decided to go on. "I may enroll you in school when the summer's over, but we'll see how things go til then."

"_You_ enroll _us_?" Race scoffed. "Hey, Cowboy, just how old are you, anyway?"

* * *

"Twenty-seven!" Racetrack paced up and down the length of the room while Spot sat on the giant canopy bed and watched. "Twenty-seven. An' he passed hisself off as seventeen! An' we believed him!"

"Di'n he say he was a runaway just the same?" Spot asked calmly.

"And an orphan, to boot." Race swatted at Blink, who had been picking through the wardrobe for the last few minutes and pretending not to listen.

"Ah, whadda _you_ know 'bout it?" Race muttered.

"More'n you!"

"Hey! Hey!" Before the two could start a scuffle, Spot stepped between them and held Race back with his cane. "Blink was beat at da orphanage, and you was abandoned by yer mother. Ya both know dat, so no reason ta be flingin' insults around. So his parents was shot. So what if he got him a big house an' a heap o' money from it? Dat don't make him no less an orphan than either o' you's."

Albeit reluctantly, Race went back to his sullen pacing. Blink scowled and turned his attention back to the contents of the wardrobe. "If you's feelin' dat bad about it," Spot went on, "den might I suggest you demand he show us around town? Makin' 'im tell da truth 'bout himself for once'll make ya feel better." Race muttered something incoherent in reply. "Or," Spot mused, "if not, we could always… I dunno, find _some_ way ta amuse ourselves while we's out'n'about."

There was a pause in the pacing as the three boys exchanged glances. A dark grin of satisfaction grew slowly on each face until the trio fell to rowdy laughter at the insinuation.

If nothing else, they were in for an interesting time.

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**Author's note:** Oh, also, please review!


	3. Big Mistake

A/N: So it's been a while. Sorry about that. I hate writing things in order sometimes, cuz I have ideas for where this story can go, but I can't do it until I get the boring introductory stuff out of the way first. That and, until you know how to get there, you kinda can't get where you're going. Anyway, this chapter shoulda been a heck of a lot more fun, but in all truthfulness it gave me nothing but grief. All three of my boys went completely silent on me (except for Racetrack, who decided he was gonna screw around with one of the other stories I was writing), so I was stuck trying to come up with stuff on my own. And then Spot finally got talkative near the end, which I'm not sure is necessarily a good thing, and somewhere in the process of trying to reconcile Bruce Wayne and Jack Kelly, I think I may have lost them both... Hopefully it won't stay that way, and when I start actually writing him as Batman, it should get better. But for now, this is what I've got. Those of you familiar with the Batman mythos will know precisely where I'm going with this once you read this chapter. If you don't, well you're in for a great treat, aren't you? Enjoy.

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Chapter 2: Big Mistake**

_Cowboy was as good as his word. Neither of us had to lift a finger durin' da next couple'a days. Al, da butler, was a good sport 'bout it, if nuttin' else. An' me, I actually started gettin' used to da whole idea. The other two… Well, I weren't real sure where dey stood on da issue. Whether we was s'posed ta be enjoyin' it or not, I mean._

_It was a good while b'fore Cowboy was up ta takin' us out. Said he had some business he needed ta take care of first. We din't know what he was talkin' 'bout at da time. All we knew was he slept real late ev'ry mornin', an' din't come home til real late at night. We din't see a whole lotta him dos first couple'a days._

_But finally, by 'bout da t'ird day, he'd turned his attention back ta us. An' we all four went on a liddle excursion to his place of work… Big mistake, Cowboy._

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Racetrack tugged uncomfortably on the vest of his suit and groaned as the three boys waited outside the boardroom. "How long's he gonna take in dere?" he whispered, not quite sure why. Just something about the somber silence made him unwilling to break it.

Spot twirled his cane and shrugged, glancing over at the secretary as he answered. She wasn't looking. "Dunno. But he didn't exactly tell us ta stay put now. Did he?"

With an answering shrug, the Italian orphan fingered his collar. "Dats true." He turned to Blink. "So, what on da tour list looked innerestin' enough to skip ahead to?"

"Well," Blink said with a smirk. "I always felt it best to start at the bottom and work your way up."

A knowing grin spread on Spot's face. "Research an' Development?"

"Research an' Development," Blink answered with a nod.

Shifting his gaze back to the secretary once more, Spot rose casually to his feet and stretched, tapping his cane on the floor a couple times before strolling off in the direction of the stairs. She still didn't so much as glance in their direction. The other two followed him as he wound his way through empty hallways and down flights and flights of staircases, keeping out of sight as much as possible. It came easy to him, having lived on the streets of Brooklyn for so long. The encountered few other people as they went, and nobody who stopped them with questions of any kind.

When they finally reached the basement – after getting lost once and ending up in Archives on the third floor – Spot tapped the sign on the wall next to the heavy metal door. "Here it is, boys," he said triumphantly.

Blink grinned as he pushed the door open slowly. It made a soft groaning sound as it swung open, but there didn't seem to be anyone around to hear it, so the three boys stepped inside.

"Whoa…" Blink breathed as the florescent lights flickered on. Race hung back uncertainly by the door.

* * *

"Did you see three boys out here?"

"I saw them when you walked in, Mr. Wayne, but I didn't happen to see where they went," the secretary answered without looking up, completely engrossed in her paperwork.

Bruce let out a frustrated sigh. He'd had a feeling the boys might be a little put out at being ignored for the past few days, but it couldn't be helped. And he certainly hadn't expected them to run away. Unless…

With the secretary still not paying him any attention whatsoever, he picked up the phone and quickly dialed. It rang for a moment, and then, "Fox, R&D," came the voice at the other end.

"Hey, Lucius, can I ask you something?"

* * *

"A Mr. Grayson, a Mr. Todd, and a Mr. Drake," Lucius mused to himself. Bruce shifted impatiently. "Well, I don't know about that. But we do have something of a situation here. I was actually just about to call you down to have a look."

The young billionaire exhaled heavily and ran a hand down his face as he followed Lucius Fox through the thick metal doors to the basement. Maybe bringing them out here had been a mistake, after all. "I should've left them with Alfred," he muttered under his breath. Lucius didn't seem to hear him.

As soon as they stepped into the vast storage room, Bruce knew he was finished searching. The place was an absolute mess. Storage containers had been toppled over, pried open, and their contents scattered over the floor. A tangled knot of grappling cables ran a web across the pathway between what were once neat stacks of boxes. A few of the cables stretched away who-knew-where into the rafters.

Running over to one seemingly-untouched crate, Bruce allowed himself a breath of relief. "At least they haven't gotten into the explosives yet."

"Would you like me to call security?"

Bruce shook his head, setting his jaw. "They're with me. I'll deal with them myself."

Lucius just stood and gazed around in wonder at the destruction. "It looks like a tornado swept through here," he mused. "Just who did you say these boys were, again?"

"Just some orphan boys I picked up off the street," Bruce shrugged. "The adoption forms are still going through, but officially their names are Richard Grayson, Jason Todd, and Timothy Drake."

"Teenagers?" Bruce nodded. "And what on earth would posses you to pick up three random teenage boys from the streets and bring them in here, unsupervised?"

That was when they heard the screech of rubber. The two men shared a momentary look of disbelief before Bruce shoved the older man out of the way. Seconds later, the prototype tumbler skidded around a corner and came to a shrieking halt – precisely where Lucius had been standing but moments before. The cockpit slid open to reveal three very shocked – and slightly apologetic – faces.

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"Extra! Extra!"

The three sullen figures trudged along in silence behind a rather irate Bruce as they made their way down the block to where Alfred was waiting with the car. The familiar sounds of a busy city swirled around them as the bright summer sun beat down on them from between the tops of the tall buildings.

After several moments of uncomfortable silence, Spot hurried forward to walk beside Bruce, though he had some difficulty keeping up with the other's angry strides. "Look, Cowboy—"

"Don't call me that," Bruce interrupted without so much as a pause in his step, keeping his gaze forward.

"Come on now, Cowboy. Lighten up, willya?"

"That's not my name, Dick."

Spot stopped in his tracks, glaring. "It's Spot."

"Not anymore."

With a low growl, he stalked back to his place beside Bruce. "Look, I dunno what yer problem is. It ain't like anybody got hurt."

At this, Bruce wheeled around to face him, so fast it brought all three of them up short. "No, but somebody could have. You have no idea how dangerous that equipment is. One of you could easily have put an eye out or something."

Blink gave a snicker, which earned him another smack from Race. "Whaddaya laughin' at, Kid? Dis whole thing was your lousy idea in da first place."

This elicited a death-glare from Kid Blink. "Well, at least I still got my sense a humor, _Racetrack_. Or did ya swap out with Skits before we left the lodgin' house?"

"Boys!" Bruce shouted, holding up his hands for silence. Once he got their attention, he took a deep breath before continuing. "Listen, I didn't force any of you to come with me, alright? I offered. There's still a bunch of legal stuff that's gotta go through the system, and it's going to take some time to adjust." Race rubbed his thumb across his upper lip and glared at Blink, unwilling to look Bruce directly in the eye. Bruce ignored them and went on. "As soon as the paperwork goes through, I'll be your legal guardian. But even after that, I'm not gonna sit around and tell you what to do and what not to do. I am saying this, though. I'm responsible for you three. I just want you to please be more careful. Deal?"

Spot shrugged, glancing around at the other two before turning back to Bruce with a smirk. "Whatever ya say, Jacky-boy."

The billionaire groaned slightly in frustration. "And _please_ call me Bruce."

"Sure t'ing, Jacky-boy."

Even Race had a hard time keeping a straight face as a thoroughly flustered Bruce turned and led them down the street. As they passed a dirty, ragged newsie on a street corner, the Italian boy slowed, fingering the two coins in his vest pocket. "Extra! Extra!" the boy was shouting, holding up his paper. "Five dead, two cops! Gordon blames vigilante!"

"Hey… Hey, Cowboy!" Race called over his shoulder. But the other three were already far out of earshot, and almost out of sight. "Eh, what da heck," he shrugged, pulling out a nickel. He took two papes and let the kid keep the change, scanning the headlines as he hurried to keep up.

"Extra! Extra!" the kid kept shouting behind him. "Vigilante to blame for deaths! Batman branded a killer!"

* * *

A/N: So yeah. My biggest dilemma with this chapter was: Put out Kid Blink's other eye to advance plot, or possibly save that til later? Guess you can figure out what I settled on. I think it worked out okay in the end. I'm trying real hard to develop a main character here, but Blink's just too pushy, and Spot's gotta be the center of attention at all times, and well... Race is just too short to stick up for himself. Anyway, thanks to Eavis for reviewing. You have no idea how much I appreciate that. If you're reading this right now, I don't care who you are, you'd better review. It's freakin' three a.m., and I'm discouraged... *strangles Blink, simply for being uncooperative* ...please review. Thanks for reading.

P.S. Can you tell I've seen the movie a couple more times since I started this? *facepalm*


	4. Dark Secrets

A/N: So here we are, after much struggling and writer's block. First the boys wouldn't cooperate, then Alfred wouldn't cooperate... I ended up having to get out a bullwhip (many thanks to Master Warious for that) and a crowbar *hinthint*. Anyhow, finally, here is the next chapter. Though I don't know why I just said "finally" because I'm actually notorious for not updating for like forever... Thanks so much to my two reviewers, Eavis (yeah, I'm trying to bring him down a notch, but it just ain't workin so far. And I'll try not to do so much strangling...) and Athena Puget (yay epic win! And yay amusement!). Hope you guys like this next chapter. It's gonna start getting really interesting now. Like, I'm getting excited thinking about it.

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**Chapter 3: Dark Secrets**

_Just before we'd left New York, we'd started hearin' stories from Gotham 'bout dis Batman freak. News 'bout Dent an' da clown had just hit da headlines when Cowboy came back for us. I dunno 'bout nobody else, but when I heard he was headin' in dat direction, it only made me all da more curious._

_Mosta what hit da papes in New York was speculation – who is da Batman? Is he a good guy or a bad guy? Does it really matter? To us newsies, it didn't. He sold papes fer us wit' dose headlines, and he made fer some pretty good late-night ghost stories at da lodgin' houses. But udder'nat, weren't none of us really cared much who he was or what side he was on._

_Boy, if we – Spot, Blink, and I – if only we'd known how much we'd come ta care. If only we'd known how much da whole t'ing was 'bout to affect us all. Maybe we woulda stayed in New York after all. In the end, though, I'd like ta think I'd do it over again…_

* * *

"Listen ta dis," Race announced, lounging on Spot's large canopy bed with the newspaper opened up in front of his face. Spot was leaning over Kid Blink's shoulder as the blonde orphan read the same article in the second copy, the two of them seated comfortably on the floor. Race went on. "'The masked vigilante known as the Batman has finally come to the attention of Gotham City Police, it seems, as newly appointed Commissioner, James Gordon, named the caped crusader as the prime suspect in recent murder cases, including those of two officers from GCPD, late Monday night in an emergency press conference. The murders, Gordon stated, were closely tied to the Harvey Dent case, though whether the Batman himself also murdered the late District Attorney, he wouldn't say.'" He leaned forward so he could talk over the paper and shoved a cigar in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "You b'lieve dat?"

"It's in da papes, ain't it?" Spot muttered, not taking his gaze from the article.

"Yeah, but you an' me both, we know dat don't mean nuttin'." Race shuffled the pages of his paper and leaned back once more, scanning through the article. "Whaddaya t'ink a dis… dis Bat-guy? I mean, whaddaya know about 'im?"

"Just what da papes say."

The door gave a groan as it opened, and Race jumped at the unexpected sound. Hot ashes fell from the cigar into his lap due to the sudden movement, making him yelp as he jumped clear off the bed. "My apologies, Master Drake," Alfred chuckled as he strode in with a tray of sandwiches. "In the future, might I suggest not smoking?"

"Yeah, yeah," Race muttered, snagging a sandwich before Alfred set the tray down on the desk in the corner.

While the boys were momentarily distracted, the butler disposed of the cigar out the window. "Master Wayne seems to be in a rather sour mood since your return from the city," he commented casually. Blink muttered something about stating the obvious, so Race knocked him upside the head. "Apparently you boys got into some mischief down in R&D. Or so he tells me."

"We didn't mean ta cause no trouble," Spot growled.

"You kiddin'?" Race interrupted. "Of course we did. I'm sick'a bein' lied to. I wanted ta get even."

"Ain't he apologized enough fer dat? Come on, Race, ya got even. Now let it go."

"Naw, I ain't close ta gettin' even." The little Italian's face was practically livid. Alfred just stood aside and watched, waiting for the tension in the room to settle.

"If ya ask me, I'd say ya got you's a trust problem." Blink ducked this time when Race made a swing at him. "Whaddaya say, Spot? You'd almost think he takes it some kinda personal or somethin'. Like he was the only one got his feelins hurt." Spot brought his cane down between the two before things could get out of hand. There was murder in Racetrack's eyes as he sat on the floor, glaring at them.

It was then that Alfred finally spoke up, his voice ringing out in the spacious room like an old British grandfather. "If you ask me, bringing you three out here and showing you his life should more than make up for any hard feelings. And it proves just how much he cares for you. He's been trying very hard to help you boys adjust, and he doesn't make it a habit of letting anyone close to him these days. To hear him going on about you, one would think you were long-lost brothers of a sort. So, in a way, you should feel honored."

"Honored dat he lied to us?" Race spat.

"Honored that he let you in so soon after a tragedy, instead of shutting you out." When this elicited no immediate response, he went on. "He's not likely to tell you this himself, but I think it's something you boys should know. He's a lot closer to this whole Batman business than he lets on." This caught the boys' full attention, as he knew it would. "Rachel Dawes was a childhood friend of his, and very dear to him. She was killed by the Joker during the whole Harvey Dent incident."

A somber silence fell in the room. Race suddenly found the rug very interesting. "He love her?" Spot asked softly.

Alfred paused a moment, glancing between the three of them. "Very much so." As he turned toward the door, his voice took on an admonishing tone. "Might I also suggest, Master Drake, that you focus less on 'getting even', and perhaps a little more on helping _him_ to adjust."

After the door closed behind him, there were a few more moments of silence before Spot went back to browsing through the newspaper articles. Race hoisted himself up onto the edge of the bed and sulked. Blink was just opening his mouth to say something, when Spot's excited voice cut him off.

"Hey. Hey, hey! C'mere. C'mere, lookit dis." He was pointing frantically to a blurry photo attached to an article about late-night sightings of the Batman.

Race scowled at the picture for a moment. "Looks like some kinda black car or somethin'," he muttered. "What you so excited for?"

"It's da thing," Spot hissed. "From R&D."

Race's eyes went wide as he snatched the paper from Spot's hands, holding it close to get a better look. "Naw…" he whispered. But there was no mistaking it. He quickly scanned the article, searching for something, anything, to disprove it. The description matched up.

Blink just shook his head. "Well, Al did say Cowboy was closer to this whole Batman thing than he let on. Maybe that's what he meant."

"Wait a minute. Maybe what's what he meant?" Spot asked suddenly. "What exactly are we sayin' here?" Race was completely speechless.

"Well, I mean, I ain't sayin' nothin' til I see somethin' more solid. I's just sayin' what it looks like, that's all. You's the one that pointed it out in the first place."

"Ya wanna go snoopin' t'rough here lookin' fer proof? Whaddaya, stupid? He'd t'row us out right quick."

Proof. Without waiting for Blink's response, Race tossed the paper aside and slipped out of the room, muttering something about heading to bed.

* * *

Heart pounding in his ears, Racetrack stood in the center of the large study and stared at the old grandfather clock. It was too easy. There had to be something more to it. It was just too easy! And yet, with his bedroom directly across the hall, how many times had he heard those chimes softly clanging in the middle of the night? "Dis is such a bad idea," he mumbled as he stepped forward. For several moments he just stood there in front of it, heart racing, trying to quiet his breathing as he listened for any noise that might give him away.

When, after several long, agonizing minutes, the silence hadn't been broken – even by so much as a tick from the clock – he reached his hands up to the left side of the wood paneling, hooked his fingers around the back, and pulled. The wood groaned slightly as it budged away from the wall. He froze, straining his ears to pick up any other sounds. Nothing else stirred. He gave another yank and the clock rolled free from the wall – revealing the hidden doorway he'd been looking for.

The passageway was low and narrow, leading a few feet back into the wall to an old pulley-system elevator made of metal grating. Race leaned forward and gazed through the floor of the elevator into darkness. A shuddering chill ran up his spine. "_Such_ a bad idea," he growled to himself as he stepped onto the elevator and threw the lever to lower himself into the dark chasm. The metal creaked a little, but gave no further noise as it lowered him slowly into the inky blackness.

* * *

A/N: I didn't know where else to go with it, so I figured I'd just end it there and pick it up in the next chapter. Kid did a bit more talking this time around (as opposed to just getting slapped constantly... I honestly don't know where that comes from), but I think Race is also stepping up to his role as the main character in this story, which is good, because I was starting to worry for a while there. I'm sorry, I think Nightwing is great, and Jason is an incredibly interesting character, but Tim Drake has always been my favorite Robin (I sound like a total dork now...). Anyway, I promise it will get more interesting. The first person narrations at the beginning will also probably get much longer. And for the record, I've already started on a sequel... *sheepish* I just couldn't help myself, the prologue just kinda popped into my head, so I had to write it down before it went away again. But yeah, hope you liked this chapter. Please review, it keeps me going!


	5. Fingers Crossed

**A/N: **So I just got the crap scared outta me when I sees dis freakin' huge spider come crawlin' out from under my laptop an' across my bed at me. But irrational fears aside, here's da next chapter! (Please excuse da Brooklyn. I started on da next chapter, an' ya know how writin' in Race's POV gets me goin'...) Anyhows, I know I said that the action and interesting stuff was gonna start. But that was before I knew that the boys wanted to apologize to Bruce first. I hate filler chapters. This was definitely not one of my favorites. I have a feeling, though, that the next one will be. Many, many thanks to Eavis for reviewing, and to methegirl for FINALLY reading it. :) Paige, I hope you're happy with my "casting", seeing as how you kinda mentioned liking Dick Grayson. By the way, guys, if I haven't made it blatantly apparent who's who here, I'm sorry. I intended to, so simply for clarity's sake, here it is all spelled out for ya:  
Racetrack Higgins - Timothy Drake  
Kid Blink - Jason Todd  
Spot Conlon - Richard Grayson  
Oh, and Puppet (aka Athena), please feel free to spam me with reviews! I really do like it, I promise! Okay, enough rambling, hope you guys enjoy! And hopefully the next chapter won't take so long coming...

P.S. The formatting is doing something real funny, so I'm sorry if it don't match. I'll try to fix it later...

* * *

**Chapter 4: Fingers Crossed**

_I still can't believe I got away wit' it. I was scared outta my mind, but I just had ta know. Don't ask me how I knew it'd be dere, cuz I got no clue. I guess my luck was just holdin' out a little more'n usual. But dere it was, at da bottom of da shaft. A big, open cave full'a da same equipment an' stuff we'd seen at R&D. Da car-thing weren't dere, but neither was da Cowboy. I guess he was out for da night._

_Da lift had landed on a cave floor, an' all around me was all kinds'a bats. I remember Cowboy mentionin' he had some kinda problem wit' bats. Ironic, ain't it? I remember da one time I saw him really, seriously freaked out, we was walkin' back to da lodgin' house pretty late one night, an' dis bat come flyin' down an' smacked him in da head. It was kinda funny watchin' him start wavin' his arms around like it was gonna bite him or somethin'. He soaked me good for laughin', told me dat it had a lot to do wit' his folks dyin' when he was real young, an' I had no right ta laugh. Lookin' back now, I shoulda drawn da connection sooner._

_But all da same, da connection'd been made, an' I knew t'ings was gonna be real different now. I didn't say nothin' ta Spot or Blink til da next mornin'. T'ink I was still in shock or somethin'. But when I did tell 'em, dey flipped. I knew dey would._

_Den I reminded 'em what Al had said da night before, 'bout helpin' Cowboy adjust. An' about Rachel. An' da t'ree of us, we decided ta have us a little talk wit' him. Me personally, I still had no idea how ta cope wit' alla dis. Part'a me wanted ta keep feelin' betrayed…_

* * *

Bruce Wayne sat in his favorite sitting room, in a brown leather easy chair, and watched the sunlight play off the crystal chandelier onto the floor. The lazy afternoon sun streamed in from the enormous bay windows, trickling over the crystals and spilling over the expensive Indian rug in a splash of brilliant colors. Absently, he sipped at his tea and watched the miniature rainbows dance across the floor. Something had changed. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but the atmosphere in the manor had altered somehow.

Maybe it was the tensions from the day before. He'd been meaning to talk to the boys since they got home, but somehow he just couldn't bring himself to face them. He felt guilty about all of this, for some reason. And he was embarrassed to admit that maybe it had been a mistake to bring them here in the first place. But what was he to do now? Throw them on the streets? He shook the thought out of his head immediately. There was no way his boys were going to end up back on the streets. Not if he had anything to do with it.

But something had to be done about them. Mischief he could handle, and had been handling for years. But when it was directed at him as a means of retaliation, that was a little harder to swallow. Okay, maybe he had overreacted just a little bit after the R&D incident. But honestly, could anyone really blame him? These were his boys.

A soft knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts. "Come in," he said gently. The door opened slowly to reveal the three boys standing awkwardly in the doorway.

There was some shuffling and debate as to who would enter first before Racetrack was shoved rather unceremoniously into the room, followed closely by the other two. "Heya, C-- uh, Bruce," Race stuttered. There was an awkward pause as he glanced back to the other two for support. Receiving very little, he went on anyway. "Look, we just wanted to apologize fer yesterday. It ain't right, treatin' ya dat way. I mean, afta you's took us in an' all."

"Especially after Rachel," Blink offered.

Bruce's eyes snapped up to meet his suddenly, causing the boys to step back. "Who told you about Rachel?"

"Al did," Spot said quickly. "He wanted ta show us we ain't got no right ta be upset wit' you for lyin' to us."

"Yeah," Blink agreed. "Even if ya do kinda keep some really big secrets."

Race wanted so badly to smack Blink when he saw Bruce's eyes narrow, but he knew it wouldn't help matters any. "And what do you mean by that?" Bruce asked coldly.

Suddenly, Blink and Spot fell completely silent, glancing at Race to fish them out. _Great,_ he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. _Why's I gotta do everythin'?_ "Well," he began, his voice shaking. "We know you's… I mean… I… And the…"

Spot tapped the stuttering Italian rather painfully on the shoulder and finished for him. "We know you's da bat everyone's been talkin' about."

A brief flash of panic crossed Bruce's face, but the boys caught it. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Spot went on, tapping Race again. "Ol' Lucky Streak here himself foun' da cave last night. An' we saw da car in da papes, too. We just kinda drew da line from dere."

"Ya know we ain't stupid, Jack," Blink said quietly. "So don't be treatin' us like we are."

For once, Bruce said nothing about his name. Instead, he sat silent for a moment, regarding the faces of the three boys. "Yeah, I do," he said at last. "But I didn't want you to get mixed up in this."

"We ain't lookin' ta get mixed up in nuttin'," Spot said quickly. An odd look crossed Blink's face, but nobody seemed to notice. "We's just lookin' fer da truth."

"An' not da improved version," Race added with a snort.

Bruce gave a resigned sigh. "All right. What do you want to know?"

A triumphant grin spread slowly on Spot's face. "Well, first of all, it says in da papes dat you's involved in da murder a five people. An' two of 'em bulls, ta boot. What's your side'a da story?"

"Harvey Dent killed them."

"The DA?" Blink stared incredulously with his one good eye. Bruce nodded. "I thought he cleaned up the mob…"

"He did. But then the Joker…" He drew a stuttering breath before continuing, keeping his eyes trained on the glittering rainbows on the rug. "Rachel was Dent's girl. To a point. The Joker knew she was also very close to… to me. And he… He gave us a choice – me and Gordon – made us decide which one we were going to save. We… We chose wrong. We tried to save them both. We got Harvey out, just barely, but Rachel… Rachel didn't make it. After that, something in Harvey snapped. He started killing off the people responsible, the ones who were involved in the Joker's twisted plot."

"Did you stop him?" Blink asked.

"Only after the damage had already been done to his reputation. And there was no way I was going to let everything he'd accomplished go to waste."

Realization dawned on Spot. "So ya took da rap for da murders. Ya had Gordon blame you instead'a him."

Bruce nodded again, glancing up at them with grief-stricken eyes. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want to lose any of you the same way."

Keeping his gaze firmly on his feet, Race shuffled forward slightly. "Hey, Bruce, um… Look, I know I ain't been da best sport 'bout all dis, an' I'm sorry. An' I just want ya ta know dat I's gonna try ta do better. Ya know, adjustin' an' all."

A small smile crept momentarily across Bruce's face before he became dead serious again. "I don't want any of you getting involved in any of this, you hear? I mean it."

"Sure t'ing, Bruce," Spot assured him. Race nodded his agreement.

"Promise!" A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of the blonde boy's mouth. Nobody seemed to notice his hand tucked neatly behind his back.

Fingers crossed.

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, so Race is kinda turning into a real whiny b****. I think maybe he's mad at me for not writing his other stories. Guess I'd better get on that... BTW, for anyone who didn't know, I just put up summaries for a few really interesting upcoming stories at the bottom of my profile... *hinthint* Please review!! It keeps me going when I get "Skittery"...


	6. Red Hood

**Author's Note:** I debated for some time whether to post this as-is, or to expand on it some more in the morning when I have time for lengthy dialogue and advancement of plot. Then I remembered that I hadn't updated in a while, the chapter was over 1k words already, it was in a nice stopping point, and I really don't want to advance the plot too quickly. So I broke down and posted. Thanks for all the reviews, guys! It's really appreciated, and in the end it's really what keeps me going. That and the prospect of a sequel... To methegirl, I thought that'd make you happy. :) And yes, it is roughly movieverse, though (as you'll be able to tell with this chapter) I'm taking a lot of inspiration from comic sources as well. To Eavis, yes that part amused me. And it just kinda... came, ya know? Proof that my characters are the ones doing the talking I guess. Anyway, I also want to thank all of my "shadow readers", as Eavis so brilliantly put it in chapter 11 of No More Random Goils... Yeah, I see the hits. Just cuz you don't review doesn't mean I don't know you're still there. Your presence here is still appreciated. Please enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Red Hood**

_Da first night Kid Blink went missin', neither of us t'ought much of it. It w__as a couple'a weeks afta da whole t'ing went down at R&D. Da t'ree'a us was gettin' usedta bein' dere, and we'd each kinda started doin' our own t'ing. Ya know, driftin' apart a bit. So dat night, when Blink didn't get back in til real late, we didn't do much thinkin' 'bout it. Guess we shoulda known he'd do somethin' behind our backs, ya know, kinda one-up us. Least, I shoulda known._

_It weren't really til da fourth or fifth night we really noticed somthin' was goin' on. And it weren't in a row, neither. But dey was gettin' more frequent, and dat night we was readin' in da papes 'bout some new vigilante kid callin' himself da Red Hood. For some reason, Blink was real smug about it. Dat's when we first knew somethin' was up wit' him._

_I knew we shoulda said somethin' 'bout it ta Cowboy, but Spot wouldn't let me. Said dat Cowboy would figure it out soon enough, an' dat he wanted ta see how t'ings panned out anyways. Me, I was too busy tryin' ta figure out which was worse: Goin' behind Spot Conlon's back, or goin' behind Bruce Wayne's. Cuz we was findin' out real quick dat, even wit'out da whole Batman t'ing, he was a pretty powerful guy in Gotham. Ya don't cross Bruce Wayne. Ya just don't._

_But Blink's more'a da impulsive type. He don't always think 'bout t'ings like dat. He just _does_. An' we all knew it was gonna get him in trouble someday. We just didn't know it was gonna be so soon…_

* * *

_**BANG!**_

The shot went off loud and clear, shattering the nightmarish quiet before anyone had a chance to move or react. A single ceramic mug clattered to the floor, spilling its contents and shattering, as the body tumbled backwards and smacked into the coffee table. Then the screaming started. There was blood everywhere. And that guttural, nerve-grinding cackle.

Barbara Gordon hadn't been working with Bruce for very long. Truth be told, she was technically still in training. But that didn't matter much now, because that gunshot had just marked the end. She was done. At this point, she'd be lucky if she lived through the next twenty-four hours, let alone ever fought alongside the Caped Crusader again. And the funny thing was, the Joker was trying to get at _Gordon_. The clown hadn't even had a clue about who she was.

Neither had Kid Blink. Bruce had been very careful about keeping Barbara far away from the boys. In fact he hadn't even told them about her. The last thing they needed was any kind of encouragement. But Blink knew who the Joker was, and he knew that the Joker had just shot somebody, and that this somebody had been a member of Commissioner Jim Gordon's family. And at the moment, that's all the information he needed.

Perched precariously on the rooftop across the street from the Gordon residence, Blink fiddled with the "borrowed" equipment on his belt and watched as the grisly figure vanished into the night, maniacal laughter filling the dark streets. An excited grin split beneath his make-shift red mask as he stood and began to follow. For the past couple of weeks, he'd been busting small-time crooks and petty criminals. But this time, it looked like he was getting a chance to catch some bigger game. He knew well what the smart thing to do was. As soon as he heard the gunshot, he should have gone straight to Bruce about it.

But Blink didn't always do the smart thing. Besides, he wanted to prove that he could do this stuff just as well as anybody. And he had this theory about the real reason Bruce had brought them out here in the first place…

As he ran along the rooftops, following the Joker down a dark alleyway, his mind was decidedly fixed on how proud Cowboy would be when he turned in the Crime Clown himself. Not to mention how jealous Spot and Race would be. Otherwise his foot might not have slipped. And possibly he might not have hit the fire escape with a loud _clang_ on the way down. And it's conceivable that he'd have had more of a chance actually facing the Joker with the element-of-surprise plan that he'd been cooking up.

Unfortunately that's precisely what happened. He landed – relatively unhurt – on the ground behind the fleeing crook, giving out a loud grunt as he did so. The Joker stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the sound, turning slowly around to face the would-be adversary. He let out a grating chuckle when he saw who it was. "Hey, I know you," he quipped, his voice almost silky smooth. "You're that little brat who's been running around town trying to play bat. What is it the press has been calling you? Red Head?" And he burst out laughing.

Blink's fists shook with anger and embarrassment as he pushed himself to his feet. When he responded, he tried to sound confident, though in reality, with his plan no longer viable, he was feeling more than a little apprehensive. But he'd come this far already, so… "Look here, clown face. We can do this the easy way or the hard way."

Nodding in mock seriousness, the Joker paced casually around. "Oh, tough guy, eh? And just how did you plan on apprehending me?"

Blink resisted the urge to growl in frustration. The Joker was on his left now, and outside his limited range of vision. He _could_ turn his head all the way in order to keep the clown in his line of sight, but he was pretty sure that'd give away his weakness. And he was not about to let the Joker get that advantage. He'd ditched the eye patch in exchange for the mask, hoping to keep his identity safe that way. But truth be told – and yes, some people _had_ wondered – he was completely blind in his left eye.

The fact that the Red Hood's eyes were no longer trained on him must have tipped off the Joker anyway, though, because he stood right where he was and laughed again, mockingly this time. "Admit it, kid," he said when he'd finally caught his breath. "I'm way out of your league."

That's when his temper snapped. In a desperate rage, he grabbed the first thing on his belt that he could reach and threw it in the general direction of the Joker's voice. Unfortunately this was probably the worst decision he'd made all night, for several reasons. The first of which was that the first thing he happened to grab off of his impromptu equipment belt was a flash grenade. The second would be that the Joker was ready for such action. The third was that he had misjudged the distance between himself and the Joker to begin with.

They were much too close.

Blink never saw what actually happened. If he had, there wouldn't have been much he could do about it anyway. In his mind, the flash grenade simply detonated too early. But whether it really had detonated early, or the Joker caught it and tossed it back at his face, didn't really matter in the end. The result would have been the same. There was a piercingly bright flash of light, and a harsh ringing in his ears, and the next thing he knew he was plunged into darkness. For several agonizing moments, he couldn't tell if he'd actually blacked out or not.

And then the sharp, burning pain started in his right eye.

* * *

**Author's Note:** In case anyone reading this was not aware, Red Hood was Jason Todd's alter ego after his resurrection, since Tim Drake had taken over the role of Robin by then. It was also (ironically) the Joker's original alternate identity, the very one he was posing as when he fell into the vat of chemicals that made him what he is today. Just a little nod to comics history for ya. Hope you enjoyed it, and hope to hear what you think! I know it was short, and I know it cut off early, but now that I have decided to, in fact, continue on with this point in the plot, the next chapter will be much shorter in coming. I promise. Please review!


	7. The Deal

**Author's Note:** Hey, look! Finally, an update. And a long one, at that. This chapter went absolutely nothing like I wanted it to. I was rather disappointed, because Race seems to be in a bad mood, and for some reason he and Spot seem to be at odds, because I literally had to force them to speak to each other, and even then it wasn't very civil... And then my introduction of Thomas Elliot fell rather flat. But don't worry, you'll be seeing lots more of him later. As always, many thanks to Eavis and methegirl for your continued (and prompt) reviews! I'm glad I was able to make you feel for poor Blink in the last chapter. After all, that's really what I write for, to make an impact and to reach an audience. I tend to find angst and violence to be the easiest ways of doing that, most of the time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy reading this chapter much more than I did writing it. I'm determined more than anything to not let this story die, hence the forcing of plot and story. But it should get really good soon. I hope. No more rambling, it's three a.m. I really gotta stop this...

* * *

**Chapter 6: The Deal**

_Blink didn't come home at all dat night. It was probly 'bout four in da mornin' before we heard anythin'. An' what we did hear didn't do nothin' ta quiet my nerves. Much as Blink'n me was always at odds, we was actually pretty close. Blink was like a brudder ta me, pretty much da closest t'ing ta family I's ever had._

_So when Bruce came home real late dat night and said dat Blink was conked out in da hospital, while I'm sure Spot was concerned, he weren't nowhere near as freaked out as I was. For one t'ing, Spot's from Brooklyn, so he didn't know Blink dat well ta begin wit'. Of course, like I said, he was still worried, an' who could blame him? 'Specially when Cowboy told us what'd happened._

_I dunno how he knew wit'out us tellin' him, but he'd been out on patrol, lookin' fer Blink, when he'd heard da gunshot. Of course da fact dat it came from Gordon's place was cause for concern, but what was even more disturbin' ta him was when he saw da Red Hood chasin' da Joker away from da scene'a da crime. He'd shadowed'em from a distance, tryin' not ta be seen, an' especially not ta give da Joker any reason ta suspect dat da Red Hood had anythin' ta do wit' him. Da last t'ing he needed, he said, was for da Joker ta be gunnin' for us instead'a him._

_Unfortunately dis kinda stopped him from bein' able ta save Blink when da flash bomb went off. He'd seen Blink slip an' fall, an' was on his way ta help him when dis bright light comes flyin' outta da alley, an' a few seconds later da Joker's tearin' outta dere like nobody's business, laughin' da whole way._

_An' den dere was da screamin'…_

* * *

"What happened, Gordon? How did he get out?" Batman's growl was dangerously low, almost accusatory. He'd never spoken to the Commissioner like that before, not ever. And Jim wasn't happy about it one bit.

"If I knew, do you think I'd withhold that kind of information from you?" he snapped. "I didn't even know he was out until he showed up on my doorstep!"

"Somebody let him out and I need to know who!"

Gordon was a little confused. "What difference does that make?" he asked. "I should think it'd be more important right now to figure out where the hell he is, and bring him back. We can worry about the who, how, and why later."

"A kid almost died because he was let out!"

"A kid that insisted on dressing up and playing vigilante. I can't be held responsible for that!"

"Are you implying that this kid may never see again because of me? That this is somehow _my_ fault?"

There was an uncomfortable pause as Gordon finally backed down and shifted his feet. But he didn't break the Dark Knight's gaze. "No. No, I'm not saying that. But I won't deny the possibility either." He gestured back toward the hospital across the street from where they were standing, his voice rising again. "My _daughter_ is lying in a hospital bed right now, and she may never _walk_ again because of this monster. So don't you _dare_ think for one minute that I don't know how serious this is!"

Batman nodded solemnly, the closest he'd ever get to apologizing to Gordon. He'd been so caught up in worrying about Jason, he'd almost forgotten about Barbara. Almost. "Nobody saw the Red Hood in that alley. Make sure it stays that way."

With an incredulous sigh, Gordon shook his head. "What is it about this kid that makes you want to protect him?"

A cold glare was his only response.

* * *

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Would ya stop dat already?" Race halted his pacing just long enough to give Spot a pointed glare before continuing on to the opposite wall. The incessant tapping did pause momentarily, but the minute Race's back was turned, Spot was at it again. _Tap, tap, tap, tap,_ went the gold-tipped cane on the hard carpet of the hospital's waiting room. Race growled and spun on his heel. "Seriously, Spot, dat's gettin' on my already-tender nerves. Ya been doin' dat fer hours now."

Without even glancing up to acknowledge that he was being spoken to, Spot gave an absent nod and continued tapping his cane rhythmically on the floor. In a last, desperate attempt to save his sanity, Race swiftly snatched the cane from his grasp and gave the floor in front of Spot a firm, resounding _smack_ with the end of it. This brought the Brooklyn boy back to reality with a jolt. "Hey," he said when he'd finally realized his cane was now in hands other than his own.

"Look," Race sighed, running a hand down his face. "I know you's worried 'bout Blink. I am too. But dis tappin' is makin' me all kinds'a jumpy. Ya gotta cut it out."

"Oh sure, like yer pacin' is doin' _me_ any good," Spot shot back, grabbing his cane back and tucking it firmly in the beltloop of his pants.

Race sighed again and combed his fingers through his hair. "Told ya we shoulda told Cowboy 'bout dis," he muttered.

"Would dat'a stopped him?" Spot asked, giving a shrug and leaning back, trying – and failing – to look casual.

"Nah, I guess not." The nervous back-and-forth march continued.

"Stop _pacin_'. It's givin' me a headache," Spot whined.

"I can't! Not 'til I know he's gonna be okay."

"He ain't Race." The little Italian shook his head and continued his pacing. "You know he ain't. C'mon, he ain't dead, but dat flash bang screwed up his good eye. He ain't ever gonna see again."

"Gee, thanks for da encouragin' words," Race spat, the sarcasm in his voice nothing like what it normally was.

This fact was not lost on Spot. "I's bein' sarcastic, ya dimwit. I'd'a thought, of all people, you'd recognize sarcasm when ya heard it."

"Yeah, well… yours needs work."

Spot sighed and thumped his cane on the floor in frustration. "Race… Tim… Bruce said dis guy, Elliot… Well, he's s'posed ta be da best surgeon around. An' he said hisself he could get Blink… Jason both his eyes back."

"Yeah, so?"

"So quit bein' so paranoid an' sit down!" When Racetrack refused to comply, Spot grabbed him roughly by the back of his vest and threw him into the chair next to him.

"Thanks, _Dick_," Race sneered, shifting angrily around in his seat.

At that moment, Bruce walked into the waiting room, looking just as haggard as the two boys felt. With a tired sigh, he ran a hand through his tousled brown hair. "Surgery went well," he said quietly, his voice betraying the level of exhaustion his body must surely be experiencing. "He's in recovery. And he's awake. He's been asking for you two."

Race wanted to let out a whoop and go dancing down the halls right then, but Spot's firm hand on the back of his collar prevented him from doing so. As the two boys followed Bruce down the hall to Blink's room, they were oddly silent. There was a heavy feeling in the air around them. Something told them that Bruce was going to have a very long, very serious talk with the three of them very soon.

Nothing could have prepared Spot and Race for what they saw when they finally reached the room. Kid Blink was sitting up in bed, a thick bandage wrapped around his head and covering both eyes. His blonde hair was matted and stuck out in odd angles, and his skin was pale as death. A large, purple bruise was forming along his left temple. Worst of all, he seemed to jump at every sound.

As the two boys seemed momentarily speechless, Bruce spoke first. "Hey, Jason. I brought Tim and Dick in. How you feeling?"

Blink shrugged, obviously trying to appear much less nervous than he was. "A little banged up. And my eyes hurt."

"That's to be expected," said a man standing in the corner. He was tall, with curly red hair and a white coat, and was consulting a clipboard of paperwork – Dr. Thomas Elliot. "Everything looks pretty clear to me," Dr. Elliot went on. "We'll keep you here a couple more days, just to make sure there are no complications, and then you may return home. In a couple weeks the bandages come off, and you, my boy, will be able to see with both your eyes." He gave a warm smile as he tucked the clipboard under his arm and turned to Bruce. "It was good to see you again, Bruce. But I'm afraid I have pressing duties elsewhere. I'll let the four of you have some time alone." Bruce nodded as Elliot stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. The three boys waited in silence for what they knew was coming.

When Bruce finally spoke, he didn't raise his voice. But it was still laced with a very stern tone. "I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I said I didn't want any of you involved in this."

Without hesitation, Blink spoke up from the bed in a clear, strong voice. "You brought us out here for a reason, Bruce. Ya need help. Ya need a partner."

"Jason…"

"I don't exactly agree wit' his methods," Spot interjected, "but I'm afraid I's gotta agree wit' da bonehead. Ya can't keep dis up by yourself. Not for much longer, anyways."

Bruce glared at Spot. "_You_ knew he was sneaking out, and you said nothing."

Spot just shrugged. "I wanted ta see how it'd play out. Clearly da kid needs some proper trainin'. I mean, afta all, he ain't no Brooklyn boy."

"So you had the same idea in mind. He just beat you to it?"

"Nah," Spot said, shaking his head and tapping his cane against his shoulder. "I ain't dat stupid ta try sneakin' around by meself. Like he said, ya needs a _partner_, not some idiot kid runnin' around like a target."

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air for a moment before Bruce answered. "I _had_ a partner," he stated softly. "And the Joker just took her out of the game."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute," Race said suddenly, sitting forward in his chair. "Ya mean Jim Gordon's girl? You's trainin' Barbara Gordon ta be yer partner?" Bruce just nodded. "An' dat clown didn't know? Jeez, talk 'bout coincidence."

Blink leaned back in bed and gave a triumphant smirk. "Admit it, Cowboy. Ya need us. Now more'n ever."

Several moments passed in silence as Bruce looked from one face to the next. Spot tapped his cane impatiently against the base of his neck, while Race slumped back into his chair to sulk. Finally, he sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. "There's just no keeping you boys out of this after all, is there?" It was Spot's turn to smirk triumphantly. "There are conditions, though," Bruce went on, glancing up sharply. "Jason, you aren't going anywhere until you heal up and get some proper training in. Tim, the same goes for you."

"Who said I wanted in on dis freak show, anyways?" Race snapped.

Bruce sighed and turned reluctantly to Spot. "All right, Dick, I guess that leaves you. But I want you to promise me that you'll do exactly as I say, and never put yourself in any kind of unnecessary danger. Is that understood?"

With a grin that showed more excitement than was due such a grave undertaking, Spot spit into his hand and they shook on it.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yeah. Race was being whiny again. I haven't a clue why. Maybe he's upset cuz I haven't worked on Heart of Brooklyn in a while... Anyhow, please review! I want to know what you think!


	8. First Night

**Author's Note:** ARG! Race can be SO uncooperative sometimes... Hey, betcha all thought I was dead or something (except methegirl, who _knows_ where I've been *wink*). I'm not. I've been wrestling with Race, tryin to get him to cooperate. I think he was jealous, cuz even though he's kinda unofficially the main character in this story, Spot's the main focus of this chapter. Though he really has no right to be jealous in the first place, cuz he's got Close, but No Dice _and _Heart of Brooklyn all to himself... :P Anyways... Shoutouts! I don't remember if I responded to these already, but here goes anyway... To methegirl: :) Your squealing is so worth the torture that writing this story sometimes becomes *smacks Race*. And yeah, that joke _really_ shouldn't be funny anymore, but _I_ found it funny, so... Heh. To Eavis: Soooooo glad to hear I'm getting the points across! And you should like this one, cuz Blink gets a whole scene of good lines!

A'righty guys, hope you enjoy this! It's nice and long, to make up for the wait...

* * *

**Chapter 7: First Night**

_Sometimes I hate Spot Conlon._

_I mean, most'a da time I can put up wit' him, even when he's bein' smug. Which is pretty much always. But when he starts gettin' all arrogant an' high-an'-mighty, an' he's _serious_ 'bout it, I wanna kill him. It's all I can do ta keep from punchin' his lights out._

_He got like dat afta Cowboy took him on as a partner, goin' 'round tellin' us we was actin' immature. Like he had any rights ta talk. Really, da only thing ta change was dat he was spendin' more time wit' Bruce an' less time wit' us. Not dat I was complainin', of course, besides da fact dat he felt it gave him superiority._

_It weren't arrogance, exactly. I guess I just didn't like da fact dat Spot was gettin' so much attention. Despite how much I wanted nuttin' ta do wit' dis whole crime-fightin' thing, I guess I really was jealous. Oh, dey tried ta get me into it, but I just couldn't bring myself ta be involved in somethin' dat reminded me at every turn just how much he'd been lyin' ta us._

_I remember when Al finished Spot's uniform. It was da ugliest shade'a red ya ever did see, kinda like a brick red, wit' a black cape an' boots an' gloves ta go wit' it. So's he'd blend in wit' da city, he said. I saw him struttin' in front'a da mirror wit' it on, an' I just couldn't help myself. I told him it was da stupidest thing I ever saw, an' dat he looked like a little robin-bird, standin' dere in his ridiculous costume._

_Al thought it was kinda catchy, so dey used it._

_Tommy, da doctor dat did Blink's surgery, was as good as his word. Afta a couple days in da hospital Blink was allowed ta come back home. Da good doc made a few housecalls durin' da next few weeks ta check up on him, an' ta catch up some wit' Bruce. Apparently dey grew up togedder or somethin' like dat. Old childhood friends. Both orphans. Ain't dat a coincidence. Anyhow, da bandages came off afta a few weeks'a stumblin' around, and sure enough, Kid Blink was finally able ta see outta both eyes fer da first time in who knows how long._

_It was 'bout da same time Bruce finally let Spot go on patrol wit' him fer da first time. Things kinda went a little screwy den…_

* * *

"John Grey, age forty-two. Mary Grey, age thirty-seven." Jim Gordon shook his head as he read off the names. This was the part of the job he hated. "Ryan Grey, age twelve." He turned to the dark figure kneeling next to him, examining the bodies. "A family of professional circus freaks with no records and no criminal ties whatsoever. So what's the deal here?"

When the Batman gave his reply, his voice was low and tense. "One of Maroni's men," he growled.

"Maroni's dead. One of the people Dent killed, remember?"

"Of course he remembers." Gordon turned toward the new voice and came face-to-face with a set of ice-blue eyes hidden behind a black domino mask. "Maroni wasn't behind it."

"Who is this?" Gordon asked incredulously. The figure standing before him couldn't have been older than seventeen, and was clad in a uniform of dark red and black.

"My new partner," Batman replied. "Robin. And he's right."

Robin gave a slight smirk and nod to the Commissioner before picking back up where he'd left off. "After Falcone's arrest, Maroni took over the crime ring, right? So it stands to reason that, after Maroni's untimely death, one of _his_ men would try to fill the shoes. Well, it just so happens that Tony Zucco has been trying to regroup the family. My guess is he was using Haley's Circus for some kind of underhanded trafficking."

Batman gave an approving nod. "We know Haley's clean," he continued. "Which means this was a threat. Possibly Haley refused to allow Zucco to do his dirty work here."

"Well, that gives us a perpetrator," Gordon said with a sigh. "But you know how much trouble I have bringing in the mob."

The smirk on Robin's face grew a little. "That's what you've got us for."

* * *

"I can_not_ believe you left the top down!"

Race just smiled as he watched Blink shake water out of his blonde hair, their voices echoing off the rock of the cave. "Hey, c'mon," he said at last. "Cowboy's got four others just like it. An' we got da top back up before dere was too much damage done." He paused to wring water out of his hat before slapping the soggy mess of fabric back on his head. "'Sides, how was I s'posed ta know it was gonna rain? Sky was clear twenty minutes ago."

Blink just sighed and shook his head. "Know what else I can't believe? That Bruce actually let you drive one of his cars in the first place." With a smirk, he wandered over to the equipment deck, running his hands over Robin's spare uniform.

The Italian gave an impatient sigh and pulled out a cigar. "Why I gots da feelin' dat ain't da end of your list'a t'ings ya can't believe?"

"Ya know Bruce don't like ya smokin' those things," Blink said, giving him a pointed glance.

"Yeah, whadda _you_ care," Race muttered, puffing at his cigar for a moment in silence. "Ya ain't answered my question."

"No. Ya know what, it's not. I just— I don't understand how ya could possibly not want anything to do with any of this. What's up with ya lately?"

After a thoughtful drag, Race took the cigar out of his mouth waved it around vaguely. He'd always had a habit of talking with his hands, especially when he was holding a cigar. "Look, Blink—"

"Jason."

"Whatever. I know you's grateful, getting' your sight back an' all. An' I don't doubt dere was some kinda real thrill from your little escapade. But honestly, ya coulda been killed out dere. I just don't feel inclined ta put my neck on da line on a regular basis, dat's all. I mean, I ain't stupid."

"That's up for debate," Blink muttered, offended.

"Whaddaya talkin' about?"

"C'mon," Blink sneered. "Bruce may not be real sharp sometimes, but I notice things, and so does Dick. You's just lucky they didn't hit ya in the face this time, cuz I think that'd be a little harder to hide."

"Dunno what your talkin' 'bout," Race said defiantly.

"Ya know _exactly_ what I'm talkin' about, and what's more, ya _know_ it needs to stop." The two boys stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment as Race continued to smoke his cigar, refusing to look Blink in the eye. "How much did ya lose this time, Tim?" When he received no response, he groaned. "Race_track_."

Race smirked, though it was a slightly hollow gesture. "I'll make it back up tomorrow or somethin'. No big deal."

"Yeah, it kinda _is_ a big deal. This ain't New York, Tim. Ya don't run this town. It runs you, okay? This has gotta stop before things get outta hand."

"Spot put ya up ta dis, didn't he?"

"It don't matter whether he did or not," Blink said loudly, his voice reaching a volume dangerously close to furious. "Ya gotta stop before ya get into real trouble, ya hear?" Again, Race didn't answer right away. Blink grabbed him by the collar and drew him close, glaring at him with both eyes wide and piercing. "I swear, I'll soak ya myself if I hear anymore 'bout this, ya hear me?"

"Whatever ya say," Race replied, patting Blink patronizingly on the cheek and giving his lopsided grin.

Both boys knew they hadn't heard the last of it.

* * *

Zucco caved.

There was really never any question about whether or not he would. The Caped Crusader had ways of making people talk. It was common knowledge. Nobody could withstand his methods. Especially if he was going off of a hunch.

But there were complications that night that Bruce hadn't anticipated. And he should have. He knew he should have. The boy had seemed so calm during the crime scene investigation. Even flippant, to a point. Seeing Zucco himself must have triggered it.

Bruce had made a grave mistake in forgetting for a split-second that Spot Conlon's parents were killed by a member of the New York mob. Some thug who'd been trying to impress the up-tops during a major drug deal. The Conlon's had merely been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like his parents had been.

The moment they'd cornered Zucco in an alley, not far from the fairgrounds, Bruce realized the mistake he'd made. Spot's ice-blue eyes glazed over with focus and determination as he watched the mobster pull out his gun and glance nervously up and down the alley. In one swift movement, he'd shoved Zucco up against the brick alley wall, grabbing the gun and pointing it at the thug's chest with a snarl. The terrified man fell to his knees and started gushing out confessions as Batman pulled the gun from Spot's hands. Once his hands were free, however, the boy had started pounding them into the man's face in a hot rage.

He sat now on a nearby rooftop, watching through the pouring rain as the cops came by to pick up their package. Bruce sat next to him, not saying a word. After a long silence, he lifted his shaking hands and stared at them with empty eyes. The fire had long gone out of him, leaving him shaken and hollow. "I— I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Batman took his time answering, letting the grave mood settle between them. Finally, he stood, staring down at the boy sitting at his feet. "Something you're going to have to deal with," he said at last, though not unkindly.

"I don't know how you do it. Every night, fighting the injustice that took your life away, without…" He struggled for the right words, finally letting his hands fall to his sides in defeat.

"Letting it consume you?" Bruce offered. Spot nodded, still not looking him in the eye. "It comes with time and training. Just remember, revenge won't do you any good. We fight for justice, not vengeance."

Spot gave another nod before rising to his feet, finally bringing his gaze to meet Bruce's through the slanting rainfall. "I'm ready to go home now," he said softly.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Let me first say that writing Spot _out_ of the Dick Grayson character was very tricky this chapter, cuz I wanted to throw the canon origin in there somewhere, but without him being personally involved, it got sticky. Fortunately, I was able to pull it off as well as fix the last hole in my plot at the same time, so I am pleased. Also, the bit with leaving the top down on the car... Yeah, totally did that the other day. Poor Skitts-the-car... In my defense, though, I had no clue it was gonna rain, otherwise I _totally_ woulda closed the sunroof... Instead I had to run outside in the middle of my shift to close it, and it was raining so hard that by the time I got back in I literally looked like I had jumped in a pool... So yeah, my inspiration for starting that scene. Hope you guys liked it, and I can't wait to hear from you! I'll be updating CbND next, I think, but hopefully it won't take me as long next time to get a chapter up for this. :) Review! It makes me happy.


	9. Inner Demons

**Author's Note:** NEEARGH! *sigh* Stupid twenty-percent-of-my-grade cause/effect research paper... It's such a horrible distraction, this school thing. Thankfully I'll be done for the summer in a couple of weeks. You know how hard it is to find newspaper articles from 1899? (Yeah, that's right, I'm _totally_ doing my research paper on the strike...) Anyhow, I'm pleased to see the great response to the last chapter. You caught on to his gambling problem even without me coming right out and saying it, which makes me smile (and methegirl, of _course_ there's a reason for it!). Spot seems to be making a big impression on you guys, which also makes me happy. Um... yeah. This chapter is kinda short, and a lot less happened than I originally wanted, but that's okay. Because guess what? _I wrote out an outline last night!_ That's right! I know exactly where this story is going, and how we're going to get there! This is not a first, btw. Despair's Edge had an outline less than halfway through. I can't tell you a whole lot, cuz that would give it away (and Blink already did plenty of that in What I Won't Do...) but I can tell you that we're looking at somewhere between 17 and 18 chapters, depending on whether or not I do an epilogue. Haven't decided yet. But enough talk, you wanna read the new chapter. So here it is!

* * *

**Chapter 8: Inner Demons**

_Okay, okay, so I gotta little problem. Ain't like nobody knew. Seriously, I dunno why dey's makin' such a big deal 'bout it. It ain't like I gots no control or nuttin'. Just gots bad luck sometimes, is all. Seemingly more so since I's been in Gotham. It's like Blink said. I don't run dis town… yet. Right now it runs me. But all dat's gonna change real soon. I can feel it._

_Blink mighta said somethin' 'bout it ta Spot da next day, but I wouldn't know, cuz Spot was real quiet fer a while. Cowboy told us later what had happened dat first night. Me, I steered well clear. Ain't no way I's gonna get on da wrong side'a dat problem. I may not be smart 'nuff ta keep outta da wrong side'a Blink's anger management problems, but at least I knows better'n ta get mixed up wit' Spot Conlon's issues._

_It was probly 'round dis time I really started feelin' any kinda homesickness for New York. Spot's arrogance'd always made our friendship rocky at best, but now it was like it was rippin' dis huge hole 'tween us, an' like I said, I didn't wanna get mixed up wit' whatever he was dealin' wit'. Blink'd started trainin' wit' Bruce, so I's spendin' more'n more time alone at da mansion. At da same time, though, he was tryin' ta keep an eye on everythin' I did, which weren't really workin' out fer him an' only managed ta create tension._

_Den, before we knew it, September rolled 'round an' we was startin' school. I dunno what it was 'bout dat fancy private school Cowboy stuck us in, but I couldn't stand it. At all. An' I didn't make a whole lotta friends, neither. Actually, I didn't make any friends. Dey was a bunch'a snobby, stuck-up richies, an' I think dey all thought I was s'posed ta be one of 'em. But, a'course, growin' up on da streets like I did, I didn't know nuttin' about none'a dat. I got da feelin' dey didn't like me too much…_

* * *

"I swear, everyone at dat school hates me."

Spot rolled his eyes as Race dropped his backpack on the bed and flopped over dramatically. "They don't hate ya, Tim," he muttered, turning back to the homework on his desk. "Ya don't exactly have a winning personality, and ya don't make the best first impression. 'Specially when you're in a mood."

"Well excuse me, _Dick_," Race sneered, sitting up from Spot's bed with an annoyed scowl on his face. There was only one reason he ever used Spot's legal name, and that was to insult him. "Ya know, we can't _all_ be da popular type."

"Thought you were walkin' home with Jason." Clearly Race was in one of his moods today, and Spot found it best to ignore his ranting outbursts at times like this.

At his casual comment, though, Race sat up and looked slightly worried. "What, he not home yet?"

"He's been home. And goin' into hysterics 'bout you _not_ bein' home."

Race gave an all-too-indifferent shrug. "So I took a shortcut. Shoot me. He ain't my babysitter."

"You seem to have given him reason enough to think he is."

"What's dat s'posed ta mean?"

Spot shrugged in reply. "I'm just sayin' he's been awful uptight 'bout you lately. I mean, ya _have_ been disappearin' a lot."

"Ain't my fault ya bums leave me ta myself all'a time," Race muttered, lying back down. When he heard footsteps on the staircase, he rolled over and groaned.

Within seconds, Blink stormed through the doorway, looking thoroughly flustered. "Hey, Dick," he said wearily. "Ya seen Tim come in yet?" Without glancing up from his homework, Spot jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bed. Blink turned and nearly pounced when he saw Race. "What the _hell_ ya think you're doin'?" Race folded his arms behind his head and refused to answer, glaring back at him defiantly. "Ya were supposed to be walkin' home with _me_! Where'd ya disappear to?"

"I took a shortcut through Murder Alley. No big deal."

"No big deal? Tim, _no one_ takes a shortcut through Murder Alley!" Blink paused for a moment to catch his breath, his fingers clenching into fists. "I swear, if you—"

Race finally sat up, a genuinely conciliatory look on his face. "Hey, ease up, Blink. C'mon. Really, it's not dat—"

His words were cut off when Blink yanked him to his feet by the front of his vest, pulling him close. "So what was it this time, Race?" he growled dangerously. "Huh? Poker? Craps? Lose all your money flippin' a coin?"

With an irritated sigh, Spot stood and placed a hand on Blink's shoulder, trying to calm him. "C'mon, Jason. Really. What's the deal?"

Temper rising, Blink shoved Race forcefully back toward the bed and turned on Spot, green eyes blazing. "What's the deal? Ya wanna know what the deal is?" He pulled Racetrack back toward him, grabbing the Italian's face and turning it so Spot could see the right side.

A large bruise was forming on his jaw, and another one over his eye. Small, short cuts were scattered across his cheek and his nose looked slightly out of place. "_This_ is the deal!" Blink nearly screamed, shoving Racetrack away yet again. Race gave out a strangled groan as he righted himself against the bedpost, and it was now clear that he likely had a number of bruised ribs, as well as a slight limp in his left leg. "He goes an' gambles all his money away, an' then gets soaked fer not bein' able ta pay up," Blink said through clenched teeth, his accent coming through in his fury. "One'a dese days he's gonna end up dead in some alley, an' he ain't gonna have no one ta blame but himself."

"And one of these days," Spot calmly countered, stepping in front of Blink and getting in his face, "that temper of yours is gonna get you into some serious trouble."

Blink backed down, albeit reluctantly, and replied in a much softer tone. "He's gotta compulsive gambling problem, Spot. An' he just don't understand, this ain't New York. For all we know, they could be hustlin' him. Bad. An' just for the sake'a beatin' up some rich kid who don't know the difference, or when to quit." His eyes were pleading now to match his voice. "We gotta put a stop to this. We gotta tell Bruce."

"No!" Race exclaimed suddenly. "Nah, c'mon, I'll deal wit' it. I promise, a'right?" His eyes looked panicked and desperate. "Look, he needs you two, but he don't need me. He'd throw me out if he thought I's just causin' trouble. An' yer right, dis ain't New York. I wouldn't last five seconds out dere on my own. C'mon, just let me handle it, a'right?"

Blink shook his head and glanced away, practically begging Spot not to listen. But Spot wasn't paying attention. "All right," he sighed. "We let things play out with Jason, we'll let things play out with you. But," he warned, raising a menacing finger to emphasize his point, "you got one week to get this worked out. I agree with Jason, this is serious. Don't play around with this. You take longer'n a week, or something drastic happens, we're going straight to Bruce with this. Ya hear?"

Race nodded silently and slumped against the bed, rubbing his shoulder where Blink had shoved him. Gotham City was beginning to lose its charm for him.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Mmmm, things are starting to heat up, if you couldn't tell. I don't know how many of you are aware of my plans to write a sequel, but it's going to be very, very dark, and I think this chapter kinda foreshadows that a little bit. So all-in-all, not my least favorite. Oh, but _wait_ until you see what I have planned for Spotty-boy next chapter... :) Reviews make me happy!


	10. Oracle

**Author's Note:** So the opening monologue to this chapter is _extremely_ long, and was actually written about two days ago. Then I got distracted by this shiny new sidestory that just kinda developed from it. :) So yeah, Legacy of Robin just turned into a trilogy, ladies and gentlemen. The rest of this chapter was actually written over the past couple of hours. Not an uncommon occurrence, actually. It really only takes me a couple hours to write a whole chapter - once I get going, that is. So in reality I could write an entire story like this in just a couple days, had I the attention span and the time to just _sit down and WRITE_... Anyhow. Um, the scene with Blink, I have absolutely no idea where it came from. It just happened, and I figured I could use it later on to develop more plot. There's a rather failed attempt at romance in here, if you can find it. You may have to squint some, though. And _please_ don't kill me for the ending... By the way, the rating on this fic just went up for that...

* * *

**Chapter 9: Oracle**

_A week goes by real quick when you's havin' fun._

_Actually, though, ta tell ya da truth, I was pretty depressed. Not dat I let it show or nuttin'. Never do. Dat just ain't da kinda person I am. I mean, I _am_ a gambler, after all. I happen to pride myself on my poker face. Da gang scene was kinda my way'a copin' wit' everythin'. I's guessin' da whole thing wit' Jack'd hit me harder'n even I thought._

_Funny t'ing is, dey all t'ought it were somethin' as simple as losin' a few too many hands'a poker. If dat were da case, it woulda been a heckuva lot easier ta get it worked out in just a week. But what I'd found myself mixed up in was a bit more complicated'n dat._

_When it came ta gamblin', I practically ran New York. Dat ain't ta say I always came outon top. But I could handle myself pretty well if I didn't. Since I came ta Gotham, though, my luck seems ta be goin' sour. In a real odd way, too. See, at da moment I's pretty close ta runnin' da underworld. An' I ain't just talkin' 'bout craps an' poker, neither. Nah, I's talkin' automobile races, knife fights, dog fights, boxin' matches. An' of course da crowd favorite, an event dey call da Death Ring, where dey go down ta da docks an' lock two guys in an empty shippin' crate wit' nuttin' but a bat 'tween 'em for an hour. When dey wants ta make it more innerestin', dey stick a gun in dere instead an' only give 'em twenty minutes._

_I'd place bets on da various events Rhino had runnin' on occasion, but da real gamble was takin' da bets. Dat's what Rhino had me doin' afta a while. He'd give me a cut'a da losses, an' if I rigged da odds for him, I got a bigger cut. Toughest jobs was when da rival gang from the Lower East End came ta participate. Demon pretty much hated Rhino, but he knew better'n ta try an' start somethin' big like a real gang war. So any time he suspected us of fixin' da bets, which was often, he'd have his thugs soak _me_. It got worse as time went on, cuz Rhino was havin' me fixin' bigger'n bigger stuff._

_I managed ta stay outta trouble wit' Demon for a while afta Spot made his threat. I really was scared dat Cowboy might kick me out, but I was even more scared'a him findin' out what exactly I'd been into. An' knowin' him, he'd bust 'em for it. An' of course I'd be da snitch dat'd hafta pay for it. If dere was one t'ing dose two was right about, it was da fact dat my life was on da line here. I didn't stay away completely, but I made dead certain I didn't run into Demon for at least a few months._

_Den Rhino came to me an' told me he wanted me ta get one'a da next Death Ring fighters ta take a dive. One'a Demon's men. Da amount'a money sittin' on dis fight alone was enough ta drive any guy nuts. Da fact dat I'd been itchin' fer anudder job didn't help any. An' den dere was somethin' ta do wit' Demon's sister, Angel…_

* * *

"Hey, One-eye!"

Blink set his jaw and shifted his backpack higher up on his shoulder, resisting the urge to turn around. He was beginning to understand Racetrack's sentiments about these private school boys. The raucous laughter continued behind him as his footsteps slowed, one hand reaching up to touch the eyepatch he was now wearing over his left eye. A few weeks ago, during one of his follow-up visits to the hospital, Dr. Elliot had noticed that his right eye was having a little trouble focusing. And so, here he was once again wearing a patch to help correct it.

The boys at school were getting a real kick out of it.

"Hey! Cyclops!" a particularly loud kid by the name of Darren was shouting. Blink finally turned around and glared – though it was, in fact, half hidden. "That's right, freak, I'm talkin' to you."

"What's your problem, Darren?" Blink growled. "Posse losing interest, so ya gotta pick on some handicapped kid to impress them?"

The three boys standing behind Darren snickered. Darren just smirked. "What is it your little runt friend calls you? Blinky?"

"Leave Tim out of this."

Darren shrugged. "I had no intention of pulling him into this, but if you'd like we can. Just where _is_ your little midget, anyway? Skipping school to go play with some dirty street rats?"

"Shut up and go do your little love-making thing with your lapdogs behind the gym or something." The fact that Blink hadn't been able to find Race all day was really bothering him, and Darren was only making things worse.

To his further frustration, Darren's mean grin just grew at the insult. "No thanks. Wouldn't want to steal your spot."

"My what?"

"You know." Darren seemed barely able to contain his cruel laughter. "Your special spot where you take that Dick Grayson between classes. Tell me, is it blondes he finds attractive, or is it the fact that you're half-blind?"

Blink's eyes narrowed dangerously. For about half a second, the thought flew through his head that this was probably a really bad idea. But this boy had just insulted not only him, but _both_ of his friends. And all he could see at the moment was the red, raging fury.

* * *

For several seconds, Spot just stared. Never, in all his life, had he seen _anything_ like this. The redhead sitting in front of him smiled at his shocked expression. "What's the matter, Robin?" she quipped. "Bats never show you the cave computer?"

He shook his head, averting his gaze momentarily to address her properly. "No, he has," he replied, trying to sound indignant. "I just… never seen one this _big_ before."

One corner of her mouth quirked up curiously. "Your dialect… You're not from here, are you?"

"So what if I ain't?" he shrugged, allowing his accent to slip a little just to prod her. She actually giggled slightly in response.

"What do you have for us, Oracle?" Batman asked, before the conversation could go any further.

"Right." She turned in her chair and started typing away, her fingers flying over the keys with practiced agility. "Huntress called something in from the Narrows a few minutes ago. She's been keeping tabs on this gang near Park Row, and there seems to be some activity picking up tonight, but she didn't want to do anything since it's not technically her territory. She said they were down at the docks for some gathering or group event, and it turned into a kind of riot."

"We don't handle gangs," Bruce said calmly. "Get someone else."

"No, no!" Spot said suddenly. "I'm okay. I can handle it."

Bruce turned to him, searching his eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he replied with a nod, a note of confidence in his voice. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Alrighty then," Oracle grinned, turning back to the screen. "Looks like they were starting to congregate back near Park Row. Now, Huntress isn't sure, but she thinks she might have recognized some kids from Gotham Heights Academy. At least one of them was wearing a uniform."

Bruce nodded and led Spot back out of the Clocktower. As they descended the seemingly endless staircase, Spot glanced back over his shoulder. "So that's what she's doing now?" he asked softly.

"The Joker completely paralyzed her legs. She still wanted to help me."

"Too tough to quit, huh?" Spot chuckled slightly, if only to mask the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Gotham Heights. He _knew_ most of those kids. He'd made friends with most of them – with the exception of Darren Somers and the group that Blink had run into that morning. At that thought, he sighed and shook his head. He'd _told_ Blink that temper of his would get him into trouble.

"She's too young for you, Robin," Bruce muttered. "Keep your head in the job." Spot almost protested, but Bruce's comment had sent his mind swirling in an entirely new direction.

For one thing, he'd never met a girl who could hold her own with him the way Barbara Gordon did.

* * *

As they neared Park Row – better known as Crime Alley – they could hear screams and shots ringing through the night air. What had started as a riot down at the docks was quickly turning into a rout as the home gang chased the rival group off their turf. Batman and Robin watched for a moment, silently assessing the situation. The home gang didn't seem to be too interested in causing any actual damage. Most likely they hadn't been the cause of the riot in the first place. And the rival gang was too intent on running to really be any kind of threat.

Batman signaled, and the two of them leapt down from their perch on a nearby rooftop and into the fray, splitting up to cover more territory. The main objective here was to make sure nobody got hurt, which seemed simple enough. Robin kept his eyes open for any of the Gotham Heights boys, but didn't see any.

He heard scuffling in a nearby alley and crept closer to investigate. It was too dark to see anything, but he could make out the sounds of muffled grunts and angry snarls. So as to get an advantage, he climbed a fire escape to the roof and hurried along the wall to where the noise was coming from.

A small shaft of moonlight lit up a tiny portion of the deadend alley where a large man was bending over something shrouded in the shadows, beating at it with wooden bat. A skinny twig of a kid was cowering nearby with his hands over his eyes, whimpering. Suddenly the man turned to the kid and waved his bat at him menacingly. "Shut up, Twitch. Or I swear you'll be next!"

"Stop it, Demon!" the kid begged. "You're killing him!" As if to punctuate the statement, a low, pitiful moan issued from the shadows, earning what sounded like a few well-placed swats from the bat.

Spot's breath caught in his throat, and suddenly he didn't trust himself to handle the situation. He glanced around almost frantically for Bruce, but couldn't find him anywhere. The noise from the riot was beginning to die down as the rival gang fled for their own territory. He clenched his eyes shut, all his previous confidence quickly evaporating as he ran his options through his head.

His mind was made up for him, though, as Demon gave one final swing, eliciting a choked groan from his victim, and threw the bat down on the ground. "That should teach Rhino," he growled down at the shadowy form at his feet. "You tell him, the next time he sends some punk kid to fix his wager, I'll kill _him_, too. If ya last that long." With that, he stalked out of the alley, adjusting his jacket slightly as he went.

As soon as Demon was out of sight, Twitch curled into a corner of the alley and went into hysterics. "Oh man. This ain't _good_, man, this aint _good_! Help! Somebody help! Oh, god, I think he's _dead_!"

Spot let out a sigh and turned to leave, wondering if it might've been better to risk losing his head again. He decided it hadn't been worth the risk, since Bruce wasn't there to stop him if he had. Besides, what was one gang member? The guy probably had it coming anyway.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard what Twitch was screaming. And immediately changed his mind. "Muff! Scooter! Rhino! Somebody come _quick_! Demon just killed Race! Oh, _god_. I think he's dead! Somebody! He… He just killed _Racetrack_!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** I swear, I'm the meanest person on the face of the planet. I just want to apologize for one thing: If any people named "Darren" are offended, it was not intentional. The name just popped into my head, and I went with it. *dodges flying fruit* Your comments are appreciated, and I _know_ I'm gonna get some good ones. I think this was one of my favorite chapters so far. :)


	11. Bigger Mistake

**Author's Note:** I sooooo didn't do shoutouts last chapter. Sorry guys. Eavis: Haha, yeah, Race could definitely use bodyguards, as we all quickly discovered. And I hope intense is good. Cuz that was just a taste of what the sequel is supposed to be like. And, um... yeah, sorry, Twitch has a mouth. Also, I loved the end to Random Goils, and I'm loving Of Life! Sorry, reviewing in a shoutout, I know... I had finals this week, so cut me a break... methegirl! Glad to see I'm holding your interest. :) Not sure how much "pursuing" will be done, as I usually leave stuff like that entirely up to the characters. Anyways, I hope she doesn't annoy you too much this chapter.

Okay, this chapter, believe it or not, doesn't actually fit into my outline. I mean it does, but everything that was supposed to happen in this chapter according to my outline kinda kept getting pushed farther and farther back as more stuff happened (don't worry, I'm very flexible with stuff like this). But yeah, that's why the title sucks. So even though it's kinda one of the filler chapters, it's very long, and there's a lot going on. Blame Blink and Spot's conversation on me reading too many modern fics. Anyhow, it's late (early?), I have work in the morning, please enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Bigger Mistake**

_Before all'a dis happened, Blink an' Spot really was my best friends. I mean, Blink an' I was already pretty close before da strike, an' I's always been on good terms wit' Spot, but da t'ree of us really sorta bonded when Jack disappeared. Tragedy an' loss gotta way'a bringin' people together. It's like one'a dem laws of nature, ya know?_

_I remember da winter before Cowboy came back, somethin' hit da lodgin' house. Hard. Davey told us it was da flu or somethin', but it didn't really make much difference to us. Every single kid in dat place felt like dey was gonna die at some point. For da t'ree of us, it was almost true. Spot made da trip from Brooklyn ta Manhattan almost everyday t'rough da snow ta check up on us. I'd been havin' a lotta trouble scrapin' together da money for my bunk, so I's actually out on da streets when it hit me. Blink worked extra hours ta get me in outta da cold, but he ended up payin' dearly for it. Most'a us was back ta sellin' wit'in a few days'a catchin' it. Blink was bedridden for near ta two whole weeks._

_By dat point, Spot was too sick ta be makin' da trip 'tween boroughs. Since we still hadn't chosen a new leader afta Jack left, an' since da Brooklyn boys was perfectly capable'a takin' care'a demselves for a little while, he'd moved in ta help me take care'a Blink. Soon's he was back on his own feet an' sellin' again, me an' him pooled our money ta keep Blink in bed._

_Even so, we almost lost him one night when his temperature spiked. But he bounces back real well from stuff like dat. So does Spot. Me, not as much. Even though I'd only been stuck in bed for a couple days myself, my breathin' never was quite da same afta dat winter…_

* * *

"I think he's dead! Somebody! He… He just killed _Racetrack_! Demon just _killed_ Racetrack!"

Spot could have sworn he felt his heart stop. For several seconds, he stood frozen, listening to Twitch scream hysterically as he racked his brain, trying to remember where it was Race had said he took his shortcuts. _Murder Alley_. He groaned as it finally came to him. _Murder Alley is off of Park Row_.

As he turned around and jumped down into the alley, he was vaguely aware of his right hand fumbling for the alert button on his utility belt while the other unhooked his collapsed batons – he'd been unwilling to part with his cane and simply had Alfred modify it. He resisted the urge to run straight for the still form hidden in the shadows, instead yanking the screaming twig to his feet and shoving him against the alley wall. "What happened here?" he demanded, pressing one of the batons to Twitch's chest to keep him in place.

Twitch stared at him in wide-eyed panic, stuttering out his response. "One-One'a Demon's guys t-took a dive in the D-Death Ring. Rhino had R-Race s-set it up. And D-Demon don't like n-nobody touchin' his sister. H-He-He caught 'em… caught 'em in an alley." He started shaking uncontrollably under Spot's icy gaze. "I th-th-think he was drunk. He just hauled off on him, a-and he wouldn't s-stop. Man, I _told_ him… I _told_ him goin' anywhere _near_ Angel was a b-bad idea, but he j-just wouldn't _listen_ to me, and now I-I-I think he's dead!"

Spot glared darkly at him for another brief moment before releasing him and motioning toward the alley entrance. "Get outta here!" he shouted. "Go! Get out!" Twitch eagerly complied, screaming the whole way for someone named Scooter and continuing his hysterical screams of "He's dead!"

Heart pounding in his ears, Spot finally allowed his eyes to search the dark shadows of the alley. No details could be determined, but he could vaguely make out a small form huddled in the corner where Demon had been but moments before. There was no movement. "I swear, Race," he muttered under his breath, his fists clenching as he slowly made his way over. "I swear, if you're not already dead, I'll kill you myself." He reached out into the darkness, feeling for any signs of life he could find. There was so much blood, torn flesh, broken bones… It almost didn't seem human. A faint pulse still beat in what he assumed had once been a neck, but the breathing was extremely shallow and had a hitch to it. He felt his throat clamping and tried to swallow past the lump forming there, cursing under his breath. "Could be anybody," he tried to tell himself, even though he really didn't believe it. "Might not be him, could be anybody."

Booted footsteps sounded near the alley entrance, and he turned when he heard Bruce's voice. "Robin!"

"Over here!" he called, working hard to keep the strain out of his voice.

Bruce hurried down the alley, concern edging his tone. "You hit the alert. What happened?"

"I found one of the Murder Alley gang members here, guy named Twitch. The other gang was from the Lower East End, Demon's men. I found Demon here beating one of the other members over a thrown match, something Twitch called a Death Ring. The guy who set it up…" His voice choked as he averted his gaze. "He's hurt real bad, Batman."

"He going to make it?"

Spot shook his head. "Not unless we take him with us."

"And Demon?"

"He got away. I didn't trust myself not to kill him, so I let him go."

Bruce gave no sign, of approval or otherwise. "Robin, we can't take in every gang member we find beat up in an alley. It's one less kid causing trouble on the streets. Just let him go."

Spot winced inwardly, but ignored him. The only thing he could hear was Twitch's hysterical screams running through his head as he struggled with the weight of the form at his feet. He couldn't lift it without knowing what was where – or, at least, what _should_ be where – so he grabbed a shattered leg and pulled as gently as he could manage, trying to get the body as much into the failing light as he could. The more he saw, the more his heart sank as his hopes that Bruce was right, that it really _was_ just another kid, were dashed.

"Robin—" Spot hissed at him to be quiet as he rolled the limp body over onto its back. One arm made a sickening thud as it landed on the ground with the force of the roll. The face was covered in bruises and blood, but he'd know it anywhere. Again, he swore under his breath as he fought the sudden urge swelling in his chest. He couldn't yet tell if it was the urge to scream or to vomit. Bruce just stared for several seconds. "How did you know?"

"I heard the other gang member screaming that Demon had just killed Racetrack. _He_ was Rhino's set-up. And something about Demon's sister, Angel."

"Smells like alcohol."

"One of 'em was drunk. Twitch didn't say which one." Spot laid a gloved hand gently on Race's chest, feeling it hitch with each shallow breath and shaking his head. "His lungs ain't right. Haven't been since last winter. We gotta get him outta here, or he ain't gonna make it."

* * *

"I swear I'm gonna _kill him!_"

Alfred moved across the room to pick up the ice pack that had been flung into the wall, silently thankful that there were no breakable objects immediately within Blink's reach. "Master Drake has kept later hours than this," he intoned gently. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Blink responded by flinging a small pillow at the wardrobe in the corner. The injuries he'd sustained in his fight with Darren were putting him in a decidedly bad mood. "You, on the other hand," Alfred continued, "are in no condition to be throwing a fit over something so trivial."

"I'm not throwing a fit," Blink snapped, his head starting to pound. If he hadn't been so furious, it would surely have sounded like pouting. "And it's _not_ trivial."

"Then what, pray tell, _is_ it exactly, Master Jason?"

"It's… It's nothing." _Curse you, Race, for making me keep quiet._

Alfred simply gave a longsuffering grin and brought the pillow and the ice pack back to the bed. "Then might I suggest you forget about it for the time being and try to get some rest? Master Wayne and Master Grayson should be back at any moment, and it won't sit well with them to see you all worked up over… Well, _nothing_."

A soft, hesitant knock sounded at the open door, and Blink turned to see Spot standing there, still dressed in his uniform and looking slightly flustered. "Alfred?" Spot said quietly. "Bruce… um… needs you. In the cave. It's… kind of urgent."

With a sigh, the butler turned to walk out the door. "I do hope it was not the dogs again," he muttered to himself as he left. Blink was sure he heard more about stitches and dislocated shoulders as Alfred made his way down the hall.

Spot didn't follow, but instead stood there in the doorway as if he wanted to say something, all the time pointedly avoiding Blink's eye. "So… How bad is it?" Blink asked hesitantly, trying to sound casual. Spot didn't answer, and a decidedly unpleasant feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He lifted the eyepatch away from his left eye so he could see Spot better as he went on. "C'mon, Dick. This is Bruce we're talking about. I mean, how bad _could_ it be?"

When Spot's eyes finally met his, he immediately regretted asking in the first place, though he still wasn't quite sure why. Those blue eyes behind the black mask flashed with something Blink could have sworn was guilt. "You ever hear of the Murder Alley gang, Jason?"

Blink squirmed a little. "Yeah, down off Crime Alley, right? Bad news. Everybody knows that."

Spot nodded, his voice shaking a little as he went on. "You know what it is they do over there?"

"Gambling ring or something, last I heard. Why? What gives?"

Spot shook his head and once again averted his gaze. "For once, Jason, you were right. We shoulda put a stop to it _before_ it got outta hand."

"What… What are you saying, Dick?" Blink asked slowly. He had a sinking feeling he already knew.

"I… made a mistake, Kid. And he might die because of it."

* * *

A somber mood fell over the two boys as they sat beside Racetrack's bed and watched his slightly shallow – but steady – breathing. Thankfully the injuries he'd sustained were not outside Alfred's expertise. While Demon had managed to crack several of his ribs, the deranged gang leader had somehow only hit him in the head once with the bat, so a trip to the hospital was not necessary. Still, it would take him a long time to recover, particularly his lungs.

Blink let out a sigh and shifted the ice pack that was sliding off of his swollen ankle sprain. He was sitting with his leg propped up on Spot's chair while Spot stood leaning against the bed post, hands shoved into his trouser pockets. "I'll bet this is how you guys felt while I was in surgery," Blink said softly, rubbing at his left eye in annoyance. The patch was starting to get on his nerves. Spot just nodded without taking his eyes off of Race. After a moment of silence, Blink gave a humorless chuckle. "Better watch it, Dick. You'll be next."

Spot finally turned to glare at him, his eyes burning and intense. "_He_ wouldn't listen. That was stupid. _You_ broke your promise. _That_ was stupid. So far, out of the three of us, I'm the _least_ likely to end up incapacitated."

Raising his eyebrows as he resettled the patch in its place, Blink made a mocking sound in the back of his throat. "Mmm, lotta syllables there. You sure you can count that high?"

"You sure you're spelling _syllables_ right?" Spot snapped back, averting his gaze once more.

"I wasn't spelling it," Blink scoffed. "I was saying it. There's a difference."

"I know you. You can't pronounce a word unless you can spell it in your head."

"Well, then I guess I did well enough, didn't I?"

Spot ignored him and pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossing them over his chest as he watched Race's unconscious form. He kept running the scene over and over in his head, trying to figure out if he could have possibly been there any sooner, if he could have _done_ something. He was rudely interrupted when Blink continued. "Besides, what _I_ did wasn't stupid. It was just poor judgment. Ya gotta be some kinda idiot to get yourself involved with a gang in Gotham City, though."

"Look, I know this is your way of trying to cope with your best friend getting beat half to hell, but it's not helping _me_."

"Funny," Blink smirked. "What _does_ help you cope?"

Spot scowled darkly at him. "I think I preferred his pacing to your talking."

"Sorry." Blink pointed to his ankle. "Darren kinda put my leg outta commission."

"I freakin' _told_ you, man."

Blink considered this for a moment before responding. "Okay, maybe _that_ was a stupid move. But it's still not as stupid as _this_. Besides, we all know you ain't perfect, yourself."

"I have my own issues, and my issues are my business," Spot growled. "Fortunately for _me_, they don't involve being a bonehead like yours do."

With an exaggerated sigh, Blink rose as best he could and limped to the door, muttering under his breath the whole way. Just before stepping into the hall, he turned around. "Hey, Spot? There's some redhead in a wheelchair here to see you and Race. And _she_ didn't do anything stupid, either. Think about _that_."

Spot sank heavily into the chair as Barbara wheeled through the doorway with a bemused grin on her face. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." He leaned forward and put his face in his hands, letting out a shuddering sigh as he did so.

"He's not looking too good," she observed softly. "Is his breathing always like that?"

He shook his head. "Not until last winter. He got hit real bad with the flu, hasn't been the same since. Broken ribs didn't help."

They sat in silence for a while, his gaze on the bed and hers on his hunched form. "You feel guilty," she said at last. It was a statement, not a question.

He didn't respond for several moments, but when he did, his voice was dark and cold. "I told him I was okay to go out. You heard me tell him I was ready. I _wasn't_ ready. I froze!"

"You didn't freeze. From what I heard, you held yourself back—"

"I made a mistake," he said quickly, cutting her off. "I made a drastic mistake, and now Tim may die because of it." Drawing a shaky breath, he rested his chin on his tightly folded hands. "Wouldn't you feel a little guilty about that?"

"This wasn't your fault," she replied forcefully. "If anything, you did the _right_ thing. You realized you weren't ready to take Demon without letting your need for revenge get in the way. And you walked away from it." He shook his head angrily and turned away from her, but she caught his face in her hand and brought his gaze back to hers. "_He_ was stupid enough to get Demon mad at him. _He_ put himself in that position. _You_ did not. Think of it this way. If you had stopped Demon, if you had saved Tim… What would have become of _you_?"

"I'm sure that's not how Bruce sees it."

"Of course it is! He's proud of you, he just… doesn't know how to show it." He gave her a skeptical look. "Hey, where do you think I heard about it in the first place?"

They both glanced up suddenly when they noticed a shadow in the open doorway. Bruce stood there, leaning against the door frame with his arms folded almost uneasily. "Dick," he said slowly. "I'm sorry. You did the right thing. She's right, I _am_ proud of you. And… I want you to know there's nothing more you could have possibly done. If nothing else, you probably saved his life."

Spot nodded gratefully and shifted his gaze back to Racetrack. It seemed as if one weight was lifting from his shoulders while another one settled quietly into its place. He folded his hands in front of him and leaned his elbows heavily on his knees, an empty smirk tugging at his mouth. "We've come a long way, haven't we, Cowboy?"

Bruce gave a hollow smile in return, nodding to himself. "Yes we have, Spot," he replied, sincerity filling every word. "Yes we have."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Whoo... I think that's the longest one yet. I almost cut it short in several places, but I didn't want to leave things hanging for the next chapter, cuz the plot will actually progress in the next one. This was kinda one of those "here's the answer to the cliff hanger and a break from all the intense, dark action before we dive right back in again" things. Oh, and guess what? My characters are _evolving_! I've _never_ had that actually happen in a story before. Ever. Not to this extent, anyway. Anyhow, I'm going to Florida for youth camp. We leave Sunday morning, won't be back until late next Sunday night, and I'm only allowed a phone because I'm the only leader with cell service down there. So sadly, you will not have an update from me before then. I _am_ bringing a notebook, though, so look forward to possibly a new chapter very soon after I get back. Until then, can't wait to hear from you guys, and keep Carryin' the Banner! Btw, if the whole situation with the underworld seemed sketchy and vague, it's supposed to be. After this story is finished, I'll be doing a companion piece called Take a Dive that explains what all was going on...


	12. Moving Up

**A/N:** Mmmph. So I'm back from camp. It was so much fun, and I got so sunburnt, but I came home with two hermit crabs named Anthony and Carlos el Cangrejo (which is crab in spanish, in case you were wondering). My sister named the second one, and I have nicknamed them Race and Itey, respectively. Anyhow, this story is beginning to annoy me to some degree. Particularly because every time I try to write a chapter by the outline, it ends up being ridiculously long and not actually going where I wanted it to. I know I promised more action, but it would appear that is being held off until next chapter. Sorry, guys. I hope you all like it anyway, even though I'm really not that worried about it. Oh crap, I'm late for rehearsal... Enjoy!

Btw, Eavis, yes that was my favorite part too. It just seemed so fitting, and a great way to end the chapter. methegirl, that's kinda the point, making you feel bad for him anyways. And I'm glad you found it interesting. :)

* * *

**Chapter 11: Moving Up**

_It took dem several weeks ta round everybody up, though a'course dey never caught Rhino or Demon. What wit' da riot, I figured Rhino at least wouldn't blame me for it. My only concern was what Cowboy planned ta do wit' me._

_Blink recovered from his own injuries shortly afta I finally came to, an' dey pulled a stunt dat would never work again. While Blink went wit' Bruce ta da Lower East End, Spot led da charge into Murder Alley. Neither gang knew what hit 'em. Blink, of course, was ecstatic 'bout gettin' his first real trial run as Robin._

_I think it was den dat Spot really realized just how far he'd come. We'd all seen da small changes, but he really saw da improvement when he's up against da Murder Alley Gang wit' nuttin' but da GCPD ta back him up. I'd guesss da feelin' was somethin' similar ta puttin' alla your money on a bet dat you's not too sure of an' windin' up on top. An' for once he weren't arrogant 'bout it._

_Soon's dey was done roundin' up da gangs, though, I really did catch it. Dere was no end'a looks an' comments from Spot an' Blink. But da worst was da lecture Cowboy gave me. Startin' out, I resented him for it. But da more he talked, da more I realized how truly concerned he was. Still, no amount of concern could ever make up for his betrayal. In a way, I think I resented him more for it._

_It didn't help dat Spot was really startin' ta pull away. I dunno if he was mad at me, or if it was just Oracle, but he was spendin' less time wit' us an' more time wit' her. Dat on top'a Blink's trainin' really kinda made me feel isolated. I's beginnin' ta wonder why dey kept me aroun'._

_Da worst, though, was when Spot started talkin' 'bout leavin'…_

* * *

The harsh light from Oracle's computer lit up her face as she intently scanned the various readouts. A dark shadow stood in the doorway, watching her, but she didn't acknowledge it for several silent moments. Finally, with an air of something bordering on impatience, the dark figure slunk forward to stand behind her chair. A faint grin crossed her face, but she never took her eyes off the screen. "You're out of the mansion," she intoned casually. "That must mean Tim's finally awake."

The figure sighed and shook its head, stepping just close enough to the artificial light to reveal a set of ice-blue eyes behind a black domino mask. "More or less," Robin replied wearily. "He's still sleepin' a lot, and he's in a lot of pain when he's awake, but at least he's conscious."

A small blip appeared on the map that took up the majority of one of the screens. Oracle tapped several keys to bring up the data readout, then dismissed the information in disappointment. "You're not still feeling guilty about it, are you?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly, letting his eyes drift over the screens for a moment. "Not so much. I'm worried about him, though. Bruce and Alfred are going to try to get him to quit smoking, 'cuz of his lungs and all. He ain't gonna like that one bit."

"Well, if it's for his own good…" She trailed off distractedly as another marker lit up on the map.

"He's never done anything simply because it was 'for his own good'," he scoffed bitterly. A third marker came up on the map, and he leaned in close to examine it as Oracle tapped away at her keyboard. "What you up to?"

"I'm _trying_ to get a lock on Demon's location," she answered with a frustrated huff. "So far he's been pretty elusive. No one seems able to get any kind of solid lead."

"Maybe he's skipped town."

"It's possible." Again, she trailed off absently, searching the computer screens. "Here," she mused after a moment. "Best lead we've got is in Blüdhaven, actually."

Robin straightened, his lips pursing into a firm line. "Alright. Let's go then."

"Woah, there, cowboy." One hand still on the keyboard, she held up the other to stop him in his tracks. "Bruce doesn't usually like to go stomping around in someone else's territory."

"So whose territory is it then? We'll call them."

A data file on Blüdhaven appeared on the main screen. "So far, nobody's," she replied, scanning the info. "Their police department is heavily mired in some serious corruption issues, though. I highly doubt we'd make much legal headway, and there'd be no going in at this point without stirring up some trouble."

With a frustrated sigh, he slapped his hand down on the oversized desk. "We can't just let him get away like this, Babs," he pleaded. "We have to do something."

"I know, Dick," she soothed gently. "I know. But the only way to do it at this point is if someone went in and claimed the territory permanently."

A bitter tone laced his voice as he shoved away from the desk and started walking toward the door. "Then it's hopeless. Nobody'll go for that."

She nodded in agreement. "Everybody wants a piece of Gotham. Not even Huntress would make the move. Unless…" A brief silence hung in the air between them as something in her tone made him stop and turn back. With some hesitancy, she turned to face him for the first time. "You could do it," she suggested softly.

A decidedly shocked expression settled on Dick's features. "Me? No. No, I'm… I'm Bruce's partner. I can't just up and leave like that."

"He's already training Jason to take your place," she reasoned. "And you work well on your own. You proved that well enough when you went after Rhino's gang in Murder Alley."

"We still never caught Rhino, either."

"So? You did well all the same, and Demon is most definitely the more dangerous of the two. We _need_ someone to bring him in before he causes any more trouble or hurts anyone else, and right now this is the only option. It's the best lead we've got."

Dick gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his gaze to the ground, as if searching for some other excuse there. "I can't leave them," he said quietly, shaking his head. It sounded weak to him, but it was the only reason he could think of, and oddly the one that stood out the most to him. "They're the only family I've got. I can't just leave them like that."

Barbara shook her head firmly, a defiant confidence shining in her eyes. "You wouldn't be abandoning them, Dick. You'd be helping them."

* * *

Race hobbled shakily into the kitchen. It had been several months since the incident, but he was finally up on his own two feet. Well, sort of. He still required the use of a crutch to get around since his entire left leg had been shattered, and most of the upper levels of the mansion were currently out of the question. But he was finally out of bed, and that was all that mattered.

Blink was seated comfortably on the counter with a carton of ice cream, contentedly shoveling the frozen concoction into his mouth with a spoon. As Race pushed his way in the door, he made an acknowledging sound in the back of his throat and went right back to work.

"Hey, hey! Leave some'a dat fer dose'a us dat needs it," Race slurred out, his accent coming through particularly thick. After being out cold for three weeks straight and then only partially conscious for another couple months, he was still recovering. In fact, he'd only just been able to form a coherent sentence about a week ago. The fact that most of his throat was scratched and swollen didn't help much.

"You don't need nuttin' but a good rest," Blink muttered, his mouth full. "And maybe a smack in the head for idiocy," he added once he'd swallowed.

Race glared at him, but ignored the last comment. "I been mos'ly asleep fer… How long was it?"

"Two, three months maybe?" Blink shrugged indifferently. "I dunno, I lost count."

"Whaddever." Race absently waved his free hand, brushing the petty details aside. "Point is, I stay in'at bed much longer'n I'ma go crazy."

"You're already crazy, Tim."

"M'not."

With a sigh, Blink set the carton aside and leaned forward, grabbing the front of the counter to balance himself. "Look, I dunno _what_ was goin' through your head, and frankly I don't think I care at this point. The fact of the matter is, what you did was stupid. Extremely stupid. Like, I know we've all done our share of stupid things, but yours is the mother of all stupidity. I told you, _no one_ takes a shortcut through Murder Alley. And of course, you couldn't just stop at 'taking a shortcut', no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a gang. And to top it all off, you found yourself stuck between the two nastiest thugs in Gotham City. Real smart, Race. Of course you're not crazy. Real sharp." He scowled and rubbed at his right eye in frustration.

"I di'n as' fer dis."

"No, you didn't. But you didn't avoid it very well, either. Don't you get it?"

Race heaved a small sigh and limped over to a chair at the table. His head was starting to spin a little. "I get it, Blink. I get it. It was stupid. C'n ya drop it, maybe? Ain't like it's da end'a da world or nuttin'."

Blink dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head. "No, you don't get it. You go on and on about how Bruce lied to us, but you lied to us, too. Ya realize that? You told Spot you'd get it taken care of, so we _didn't_ go to Bruce about it, and the next thing we know we find you face-down in some alley—"

"I di'n as' fer dis!" Race repeated, much louder this time. He winced at the sharp pain it brought to his head and went on in a softer tone. "Ya think I wanted t'ings ta go's far's dey did? It got outta han', a'right?"

"What got out of hand, Race? What exactly went on down there? What the _hell_ did you do that almost got you killed? Because I know you, Race. You're not a criminal. And yet, somehow, you managed to get the most dangerous thug in Gotham City angry enough at you to want you dead. I can't help but wonder how."

There was silence between them for several moments as Race let his gaze wander to the other side of the room. Then finally, without looking at Blink, he muttered, "You's right ta begin wit', you an' Spot. It was a bad idea. What more ya want from me?"

Blink drew a deep breath. "I want you to promise me that it won't happen again."

"Can't," Race said simply.

"What do you mean, _can't_?"

"I mean I can't promise ya dat. I c'n try'n stay outta trouble, but Rhino's got me. I can't promise ya I won't go back ta work fer him if he… _asks_. He gots ways'a convincin' a fella ta do t'ings."

Silence once again descended on the pair as Blink reluctantly picked up the carton of ice cream and started digging absently with his spoon. Suddenly he didn't have much of an appetite. He let out a deep sigh and just sat there for a moment, listening to Race's shallow breathing and the ominous ticking of the wall clock before finally attempting some change of subject. "So I don't know if you'd heard yet," he began awkwardly, "but Bruce's got me takin' Dick's place starting next week."

"Where's Spot goin'?"

"Blüdhaven, apparently."

"What?"

Blink just shook his head. "You know him. Never been much of one to stay under anyone else's authority for long. Babs is startin' him out here in Gotham as some new cape, and once he's got the experience he needs, he's headin' out to Blüdhaven to follow some leads they got on Demon."

A scowl began to form on the Italian's face. "Sure, use Demon as an excuse ta up'n leave."

"Race, would ya quit thinkin' 'bout yourself for once? That's all ya done since we got here. He ain't walkin' out on you. He's doin' this _for_ you, numbskull."

"Don't I wish," Race groaned, rubbing at his temples with one hand. "Ya know, speakin'a which, you's not so sympathetic's ya should be."

"Hey, you got yourself into this mess," Blink replied dismissively. "Far's I can see, you deserve every second of it."

Race groaned again and slumped in his chair. "S'not fair," he mumbled.

Blink chuckled as he hopped off the counter. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed."

* * *

"Nightwing?"

Spot nodded as he ran his hands over the black and blue uniform that Alfred had just finished with. "A shadow in the dark," he murmured, half to himself. "The criminals of this city won't know what hit 'em."

"It's a big step," Bruce commented.

"I know. That's why I took a different name, a different uniform. To symbolize that."

There was a pause as Bruce hung the Robin uniform in its place beside his. "You think Jason's ready?"

"I think so," Spot replied with another nod. "But even if he's not… Well, it's not like I was entirely ready either."

"Then I just have one more question for you."

"What's that?"

"Are _you_ ready? To go out on your own, I mean."

A slow smile spread on the younger man's face as his blue eyes came up, confidence shining out clearly even in the dark of the cave. "I was born ready, Bruce."

* * *

**A/N:** For anyone who was interested, I posted a link to the poster for this story on my profile. Under the **Legacy of Robin** heading, where I hope you'll also notice that this series had grown immensely. Please review!


	13. Disappearing Act

**Author's Note:** Hey, guys. Yeah, it's been awhile. I got a little lazy. So shoot me. Anyhow. Um... Yeah. This chapter was probably one of my favorites to write. Or, at least the first part was. The second part was one of those trudging-through-just-to-keep-the-story-moving kinda scenes. At any rate, though, this is going up much sooner than I anticipated, because there was supposed to be another scene at the end, but I realized that I'd better save it for next chapter because I don't know how much material I'm actually going to end up covering in that chapter. We're winding down toward the end here, and my plot is still making minor, subtle, unexpected changes on me. Got to one of my little minor plot points at the end here and went, "Huh... Well, I actually don't know how to do that realistically... Well, crap, now what?" But we're so far advanced in the plot now that nothing major is going to change, so don't worry. Just little technical things that keep it running smoothly.

I probably should have waited and revised the end of this chapter, but I'm way too lazy for that. But hey, at least I remembered that the opening monologue was still unfinished before I posted it! Shoutout time. Eavis and methegirl, you guys are amazing. Really. You make me feel so special with your reviews, and I'm so glad you both like my story so much. Literally, every time I post a new chapter, it's like waiting for Christmas morning. I think I await your reviews with almost as much eagerness and anticipation as you do with the new chapters. It's insane. Anyways, much appreciation and hugs and chocolate and whatever else you guys want. This one's for you! Btw, if you haven't burst into song by the end of the first scene, there's something wrong with you...

* * *

**Chapter 12: Disappearing Act**

_Things really started lookin' up afta dat. Afta anudder month or so, da comments dey made started bein less accusatory an' more'a just an inside joke. Which, a'course, was perfectly a'right by me. My leg healed up in 'bout dat time, too. Man, it felt good ta be up an' about on my own two feet fer once._

'_Bout dis time, too, da school year was startin' ta wind down to a close. It was hard ta b'lieve we'd been in dis city fer near to a full year already. So much'd changed in dat time. We'd all t'ree'a us grown a heckuva lot since dat first day we walked into da mansion. Whether in a good way or not, we's alla us much different from da kids dat'd left New York City wit' Cowboy outta curiosity. Course, me, I was still tryin' somethin' desperate ta hold onto my feelins'a betrayal an' all. S'just da way I am. Sure was gettin' hard, though._

_We still gave Bruce all kinds'a trouble every opportunity we got. But even dat was different. It was less 'bout simply givin' him a hard time an' more 'bout maintainin' some sense'a familiar normalcy. __For prob'ly da first time since we'd come ta Gotham – actually, since da strike, really – things was gettin' back to da way dey's always been. But, a'course, things don't ever really stay dat way__…_

* * *

There were any number of bathrooms in Wayne Manor that could be used for morning routines, but the boys insisted on using the same one every time – all at once, if they could manage it. The familiarity and habit seemed to have some comforting qualities. It was on the second floor, directly across the hall from Bruce's bedroom. The general rule of the house was that no one made any kind of noise anywhere in that vicinity before noon. Naturally, this meant that the boys had an unspoken mutual agreement to make as much noise as was humanly possible.

On this particular morning, however, that agreement was coming dangerously close to being broken. Spot hopped into the oversized bathroom on one foot, pulling on a sock and grumbling as he did so. After a long, late night of patrolling the Narrows, he'd been rather rudely awakened at the crack of dawn by a loud pounding on his bedroom door, followed closely by shouting and the sounds of a scuffle. The two crooks responsible were now jostling for position at the single sink. And raising quite a racket doing it.

"Dat's my comb!"

"It is not, either."

"I swear, if ya leave yer greasy, tangled mess in my comb again, I'll—"

"It's not your comb."

Race snatched the comb unceremoniously from Blink's grasp as the blonde moved to splash water on his face. "On da subject'a t'ings'a mine goin' missin'," the Italian went on pointedly, "I had a cigar on my nightstand last night dat weren't dere when I woke up dis mornin'."

Blink just shrugged. "Maybe Bruce took it again? Though I'm not sure why he bothers sometimes. You always find a way of snagging another one from who-knows-where."

"Tim, you know you ain't in any condition to be smokin' anyway," Spot muttered, grabbing his toothbrush and making sure to place himself well out of reach of any stray blows that might come his way.

"Who made _you_ me mudder?"

"Nobody," Blink smirked. "He's self-appointed." Spot gave him a swift smack to the back of the head and he, in turn, smacked Race. "He is right, though," he offered by way of explanation. "You really shouldn't be smoking."

"Why don'tcha mind yer own business?" Race growled, giving Blink a shove to emphasize his point. Blink just laughed and pushed him back. Something had him in an uncharacteristically good mood this morning.

"Hey, break it up, you two. Tim, quit your whining."

"Nobody ast you, Spot."

With a shrug, Spot turned to Blink. "So Oracle's got me hunting down Catwoman after that museum robbery last night. Any clue where I should start looking?"

Blink answered with a shrug of his own. "Crime Alley, maybe? I heard she's been sighted down there a lot. Or maybe down at the docks."

Race shook his head, pushing the comb through a tangle of dark locks. "Park."

"What?"

"Wayne Memorial Park. She's gotta stash dere. Dat's where she goes ta hole up after a heist."

"Well there ya go," Blink said brightly. "The chief authority on underworld dealings has spoken. Smells like jackpot to me."

"That's _if_ you don't foul it up for me."

"How's that?"

Race chuckled and shouldered Blink aside to wash his face. Spot grinned. "You're goin' with me, Jason."

"Seriously?" Blink groaned. "Ah, c'mon, Dick. I was gonna take Isabelle out for dinner tonight."

"That foreign exchange student? Didn't you _just_ meet her yesterday?"

"So shoot me. We hit it off really well. Tim, keep your arm to yourself where it belongs." Race ignored the comment and continued reaching across him. "I _said_, get your elbow out of my face!"

"I _will_, if ya pass me dat towel ya got hangin' overe dere!"

Blink shoved him good-naturedly and, grabbing the towel off the wall rack, jumped up onto the marble shelf beside the tub. "How much you willing to pay for it?" he taunted.

Spot laughed as he grabbed the towel and handed it to Race. Life was starting to get back to some kind of normal. And that was just fine with him.

The three boys finally tumbled out of the bathroom and made their way down the hall, shouting and tussling the whole way. When they reached the grand staircase that led to the foyer, Race slid down the wide banister. His left leg was still a little weak, so he usually took the service stairs that led straight to the kitchen, since they were carpeted. But on some days he simply made do with what he had.

When they burst into the kitchen – in much the same fashion as when they'd exited the bathroom – Alfred already had breakfast laid out for them. There was a fair amount of pushing and shoving as they settled in around the table to eat.

"Hey, Al," Blink greeted the old butler cheerfully, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "You know where Bruce is?"

"We didn't hear no shoutin' from da bedroom dis mornin'," Race explained, reaching for the nearly-empty pitcher as soon as Blink was done. "Oh sure," he mumbled as he poured the remains into his glass. "Just leave me half'a glass, why don'tcha."

Alfred smiled and shook his head in amusement as he took out a second pitcher. "I'm afraid Master Bruce is out of town on business. As I understand it," he commented, turning to Spot, "you and Master Jason here are free as a pair of fish this evening after school."

Spot nodded. "Yeah, Oracle's got us goin' after Catwoman on our own. Tim here gave us the angle, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Speakin'a angles," Race said around a mouthful of his muffin, "anybody else havin' trouble wit' dis geometry test?"

"Of course not," Blink scoffed. "We all know Dick's a whiz with that stuff."

With a shrug and a modest smile, Spot turned his attention back to his food.

* * *

Nightwing kicked out as he reached the bottom arc of his swing, feeling the grappling cable tense as his weight shifted forward. Just before the cable reached the end of its arc, his thumb flipped over the retracting mechanism and he pushed his feet up over his head, putting himself into a backwards flip in midair. His breath caught in his throat as his head came back up and he waited to feel the familiar solidity of concrete beneath him.

For a moment, he just stood with his eyes closed and breathed deeply, feeling the harsh wind whip around him as it gusted over the buildings. There was the faint sound of stuttering footsteps as Robin made an unsteady landing beside him. He cracked a smile as he opened his eyes to scan the park below them. "Someone hasn't been practicing."

"Shut up," Robin muttered, crouching behind the ledge at the far edge of the rooftop, his eyes sweeping the streets below. Then he added, almost as an afterthought, "There was a gust of wind."

"Right. Sure." Nightwing rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the park. "See anything?"

"Not a trace. And it's getting pretty late. According to Tim's info, she should be here by now."

There was no response for a moment, just a small nod of agreement. "It's not like he'd set us up or anything," Nightwing mused to himself.

"But _she_ might," Robin pointed out.

The uneasy silence was suddenly broken by a soft, electronic sound coming from the alert beacon on Nightwing's belt. The boys exchanged a glance, and then a moment later Robin's alert went off as well. The older boy let out an apprehensive breath. "Something's wrong."

It took them maybe fifteen minutes to reach the Clocktower. More than enough time for them both to think up various scenarios and to wish that Oracle had finished with the four-way communicators already. Coordinating was difficult when the only means of communication you had was an emergency alert. When they finally made it up to Oracle's computer room, they found Batman already there. Oracle was playing a recorded phonecall, which the boys missed the beginning of, and didn't acknowledge them as they walked in. But the urgency of the situation was immediately understood when they heard what Bruce was listening to.

"…didn't do it dis time, I swear. Ya gotta b'lieve me, okay? I didn't go lookin' for it. A'right? Dey… dey foun' _me_. Man… I _told_ ya, Jason, I couldn't make no promises… Look, I'm… I'm sorry. Ya hear me, I'm sorry. Dey think… Dey think I's connected ta dis… dis Batman character somehow, an' I told 'em I ain't, but dey just ain't _listenin'._ Bruce, ya… Ya gotta get me outta dis, please. Look, I know I—"

There was sickening smack, followed by a muffled yelp, and then a harsher voice came over the speakers. "This sorry piece of street trash double-crossed me, Mr. Wayne. It's my understandin' that he's a close friend'a yours. Now the odd thing is, Batman's the one that picked him up the night I left him for dead in that alley. Any other street kid, an' he wouldn't'a bothered. So it stands to reason that you're pretty close friends with the Bat yourself.

"So here's my proposal. You ever wanna see the little runt again, you tell your Bat friend to bring the ransom money to the Gotham docks Saturday night at ten-thirty, on the dot. I hope you was payin' mighty close attention when the kid gave you the amount earlier, cuz if it ain't all there, I can't guarantee he will be, either." There was a brief pause for emphasis before the voice continued. "Oh, an' make sure he comes _alone_. Or things might get interestin'."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I was _so_ gonna do the entire chapter as a mirror to "Carryin' the Banner", but it just didn't work out and I didn't want it to end up just being corny. As you will see next chapter, the little bits in there (namely the whole thing with chasing down Catwoman) actually fit into the plot, so anything else woulda just been silly. Anyway, hope you enjoyed it! I can't wait to hear from you guys! And hopefully the next chapter won't be so long in coming. Sorry to leave you guys hanging...


	14. Gamble Your Life Away

**Author's Note:** This chapter took far too long to finish, in my opinion. But it's nice and long, so I hope that makes up for it. I considered cutting it off in a couple places, but that would have required I come up with more chapter titles and opening monologues, and I'm simply too lazy for that. So I made you guys wait instead. Man, I can't tell you how much trouble this one gave me. But I really kinda like it. Except there's this one bit near the end where things get a little awkward, and you can kinda tell that's where I was stuck at for three days straight. Anyhow, Phantom was amazing, even though the chandelier didn't work in the beginning. And I'm going out of town again next week for a reunion my family's been planning for three years. Dunno how that's all gonna work out. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out before we leave, cuz I don't think we get internet at the retreat center we're staying at. Shoutout time! Eavis, I just realized I never answered your question. My theatre group is doing a production of Hi-Tops. It's an old 80's movie that had Crystal Lewis in it. The same Crystal Lewis that was in Roundhouse with Mark, Ivan, Dom, and David S., incidentally. I used King of New York for my audition piece. Anyway, yes, geometry sucks, and Race... Well, in his defense, it really wasn't his fault this time. I mean it was, but it wasn't... methegirl. Yes, I'm notorious for my cliffhangers, and I'm afraid this one isn't much better in that respect. But you guys are gonna have to trust me then, aren't you? *evil grin* And I'm glad you liked the "bathroom scene". That was one of my favorites to write. As was the closing scene of this chapter, for some sadistic reason I have not yet deciphered...

* * *

_Workin' hard to get my fill  
Everybody wants a thrill  
Payin' anything to roll the dice  
Just one more time  
- - -_

**Chapter 13: Gamble Your Life Away**

_I mentioned yet dat Demon's got a nasty temper?_

_So here's da story. Turn's out dat Selina's heist da night b'fore was a set-up. Dey was plannin' on me snitchin' on her, givin' away her hideout an' all. Tryin' ta keep da capes busy fer awhile so's dey could snag me. Which dey did._

_Selina made da grab. Never woulda pegged her fer da type ta work fer da likes'a Demon. She hung 'round Murder Alley a lot, an' she seemed real close wit' Rhino an' all. But anyway, dere ya have it. Honest ta goodness, I swear I din't go lookin' fer no trouble dis time. Last thing I wanted was Spot on me back again. All da same, dere I was, walkin' home from school. Spot an' Blink'd already headed out fer deir patrol, so I's left ta walk home by myself. Den da next thing I know, I's on da ground bein' blindfolded an' she's all purrin' in my ear tellin' me not ta scream._

_I dunno where dey took me. My guess was da docks, but it's hard ta tell, wit' Gotham bein' on an island an' all, not unlike Manhattan. Everythin' smells like saltwater. An' den I hear Demon sayin' he wants his revenge, an' dat he's gonna get it one way or anudder. An' den Selina's all beggin' him ta leave her da Bat, cuz he's been gettin' on her last nerve lately. An' dat's when it hits me._

_Dey's figured somethin' out._

_Whether it's da whole truth, or dey's just on da right track, dey's figured I'm somehow connected ta Batman. Which is precisely what I didn't want happenin'. I mean, dat was a large part'a da reason I didn't want nuttin' ta do wit' dis whole Robin thing in da first place, was cuz I was already in pretty deep wit' Rhino, an' I didn't want it gettin' back ta Bruce an' da other's. It's a pretty lame excuse, I know, but still._

_Afta dey'd finished arguin' over who was gettin' what an' how it was all s'posed ta go down, Demon started makin' all kinds'a demands, tellin' me he was gonna make me call Bruce an' relay his "requests". Dey didn't bother takin' da blindfold off. Weren't like I needed ta see anyway. Just kinda shoved da phone in my face an' told me when ta start talkin'_

_Bruce wasn't home. I didn't expect him ta be. Afta all, Al had told us earlier dat day dat Bruce was outta town. Well, Oracle intercepted da call, like she always does, an' when she heard what I's sayin' she started recordin' it. I knew I wasn't talkin' ta Bruce, but I had ta do somethin', so I just let her record my message, an' explained ta Demon later dat he'd get it when he got back in town._

_Well dat weren't good enough for him, so 'bout an hour later – close ta da time when Spot an' Blink was s'posed ta be makin' da bust on Selina – he placed a second call. I guess Bruce'd made it back by den, an' soon's she could Oracle called him in ta listen an' hit da alert ta bring da boys in, too. Demon let me run my mouth fer little over five minutes b'fore he made his final demands and hung up. Den he got to smackin' me aroun'…_

* * *

It was dark. Always dark. A perpetual stretch of blackness that was only interrupted by the rare sliver of light that opened up at the end of the tunnel of night. Occasionally, the sounds of grinding metal or shouting would pierce the dull silence that hung in the air. But for the most part, the only thing he had any sense of was his own shallow breathing echoing off the walls.

It hadn't taken Racetrack very long to figure out that he was being kept in a shipping crate on the north docks. This conclusion had come less from a sense of his surroundings and more from deductions of Demon's behavior. The north docks was where the Murder Alley gang had held their Death Ring matches. It was where Demon's right hand man, Bull, had been killed. Because of a fixed fight.

Because of a fight _he_ had fixed.

That was why he was here. Demon was looking for revenge. And _someone_ had told him who was fixing the bets for Rhino. Snake, or maybe Twitch. It didn't matter now. The point was, he was probably going to die. He knew Bruce would do everything in his power to get him out. But he also knew that Demon was bound and determined to get his satisfaction from this whole ordeal, one way or another. Even if he had to cross the Batman himself to get it.

Race had no clue how long he'd been there. It had obviously been longer than a day, possibly even two, but his entire sense of time was skewed by the frequent visits Demon made to his makeshift prison to "rough him up a bit", as he put it. And also by the fact that every time the crate was opened, daylight could be seen pouring in briefly from outside.

Like now. The metal door of the crate grated open a fraction, letting the bright sunlight pierce through blindingly for a moment before it was once again extinguished. Race held his breath as the sound of footsteps echoed in the small space, making their way deliberately toward the center. But when the small, electric light on the ceiling was lit, he was surprised to find that it was not Demon this time who had come to pay him a visit.

Selina let her gaze roam over the dim interior of the shipping crate. When at last she saw the little Italian curled into the far corner, she smiled and settled her lithe body comfortably into the single chair at the center, her knees up to her chest and all but perched on the wooden back. Her green eyes sparkled as she watched him. "Scared yet, little gambler?" she breathed, her voice coming out as smooth as silk in the close space.

He shrugged casually and let his muscles relax a bit, pointedly avoiding her gaze. After a moment, he let out a small sigh. "What day is it?" he asked softly.

"Saturday."

The way the word rolled off her tongue, it almost sounded like a judge's sentence. He nodded to himself, thinking. He'd been picked up Wednesday. Which meant he'd been there for three days already. After drawing as deep a breath as he could manage – what with his now-permanently sore ribs – he asked the one question that had been plaguing him since he'd arrived. "Why'd ya do it, Selina? Thought we was on good terms."

Draping one arm over the chair back, she cocked her head to the side and regarded him carefully. "We were," she replied. "I told you, kid, I like you. You've got spunk. What you don't have is brains."

"So I keep hearin'," he muttered.

Selina unfolded herself from her perch and crept closer, searching out his eyes with her own. "You know I don't work for any one side. I'm a free spirit. I see something I want, I take it." She paused, kneeling down in front of him and trailing a clawed finger across his face thoughtfully. "You have connections that I need."

Race shuddered and pulled away from her. "So I guess it don't matta what happens ta me in da end, right?" he spat. "Just as long's ya get what ya want out of it."

"I can't control Demon any more than you could," she said with a shrug.

"Well I hope you burn fer dis. You's a no-good scamp, ya know dat? An' dat's all you's ever gonna be."

With a snarl, she reached out and snatched a handful of his hair, yanking his head back and forcing him to look her in the eye. Her face darkened dangerously as her voice hit a threatening tone. "No one speaks to me like that," she hissed. "And certainly _not_ some deranged street urchin. I've killed grown men for less."

"Who's da deranged one here? You's da one dat looks like some freakish cat."

She gave a final growl before tossing him back against the metal wall of the crate and rising to her feet. On her way out, she paused, one hand reaching out toward the light switch, and turned back to him. "You'd better hope Demon kills you before I do," she warned. "Because I _will_ make it slow and painful."

* * *

"I can't believe we were set up!" Spot exclaimed, his blue eyes flashing. The echoing sounds of his voice bounced faintly against the cave walls for a moment, disturbing a few sleeping bats as it traveled back into the dark maze of expansive caverns. He clenched his fists and shook his head. "The museum robbery was just a decoy, something to keep us busy. And they _knew_ he'd tell us where we could find her. They _knew_. How did they know?"

It was Saturday. Bruce was gathering his equipment, preparing to set out for the docks, while Spot and Blink were busy trying to piece together everything that had happened in the past couple days. Everything was falling into place with a gut-wrenching precision, all just a little too late.

Blink rubbed the back of his neck as he racked his brain with the same questions they'd asked themselves a million times already. "Maybe they _didn't _know," he suggested. "Maybe they just guessed. I mean, you guys picked him up in the alley that night. If she saw you, it doesn't take a lot of brains to put two and two together." Spot grunted in reply and impatiently tapped the ground with his cane, listening to the echoes for a moment. "The question is," Blink went on after a moment, "why did she turn Tim in to Demon in the first place? I mean, I was under the impression that she was in good with Rhino and _his_ gang. So why go to the rival gang with info on their bookie?"

"The thing you have to remember about Catwoman," Bruce interjected, "is that the only side she works for is her own. Obviously Demon paid her; she doesn't do anything unless there's money involved. But I have a feeling there's another reason."

Spot's head snapped up. "We've been cracking down on her lately. That's why Demon wanted _you_ to bring the ransom money. He gets compensated for his losses, and they both get a shot at taking you out of the picture."

"Good work." Bruce tossed him the two-way communicator that Oracle had given him. "Robin, go get suited up."

"Wait, why?" Blink asked, confused. "Demon said you were to go alone."

"He said things would get interesting if I didn't. Think about it. What is Demon?"

Blink shrugged. "A thug? A gang leader?"

"A gambler," Spot answered for him. "It was the only thread of civility between the two gangs. And to 'make things interesting', gamblers put down bets."

Bruce nodded. "I think having you there will do more to improve our odds than to hurt them. Nightwing will be on the roof with the communicator, keeping Oracle up-to-date on what's going on in case something goes wrong."

"What about the money?" Blink asked. "Are you even gonna bother bringing it?"

With a sigh, Bruce stopped what he was doing and bowed his head. "If there's even the slightest chance it'll ensure Tim's safety without a fight… then yes."

* * *

The north docks of Gotham City were mostly deserted, now only used by drug dealers and gangs for their various illegal activities. Not surprising, really, given the proximity of the Narrows. The few remaining dim street lamps cast ghostly shadows between the piles of abandoned shipping crates that littered the docks. There was no telling how many of the crates still had stuff in them, seeing as most of them were heavily locked and the keys long-lost. A few without locks, however, had some time ago been emptied and were now used for any number of unspeakable purposes.

When they found Demon somewhere in the maze of crates – accompanied only by two goons with guns and Selina herself – Blink was pretty sure that one of those purposes was the holding of prisoners. The thought made him shudder.

Demon stepped forward to meet them, the nasty smirk on his face growing wider by the second. Right beside him was Selina, a coy grin matching her sauntering step and a length of rope coiled over one arm. Blink felt his anger flare up at the casual demeanor of the pair. They were acting as if a person's life wasn't at stake. And the cold, calculating look that the gang leader was giving him made him positively sure that it most certainly was.

"So," Demon said, his smirk breaking into an all-out grin of sick pleasure. "You chose to ignore my warning. This should be fun."

"Where's the boy?" Batman demanded.

"Oh don't worry about him. You'll see him soon enough. But first, the money."

Reluctantly, Blink handed the briefcase with the ransom money in it to Selina. She set it on a nearby crate and proceeded to count it. "It's all there," Batman assured them, his tone indicating that he was losing his patience. Selina glanced up with a nod to confirm this statement, once again taking her place beside Demon and handing the briefcase to him. "Now take us to the boy."

"All in good time," Demon leered, his intent gaze still on Blink.

Suddenly, at some unspoken signal, Selina reached out and grabbed a fistful of the boy's blonde hair, her other hand coming to rest on his throat. He reached up to pry her hand away, but the claws on her fingers pressed uncomfortably against his skin. The two goons brought up their guns to keep Batman at bay while Demon moved toward one of the large shipping crates, a ring of keys in one hand. "You see, Batman," he said evenly, his voice rising slightly to be heard over the sounds of Blink's struggling and the rattle of the locks, "my right-hand man, Bull, he was murdered in a game we low-lifes here like to call the Death Ring. Murdered, I say, because the game was fixed. Rhino, he set me up. And I'll get my revenge on him eventually. But right now, I want even with the kid who set it up. And Selina here, she wants you off her back. And so I figured, what better way to accomplish both goals than to hold our very own Death Ring match right here? But then, of course, you had to bring your little side-kick along for the ride. And I'm thinking to myself, I'm thinking, just how much better would it be for you to watch your partner participate in this match instead? Especially if you can't do anything about it."

As soon as he had one of the doors open, Selina shoved Blink inside, throwing the coil of rope in with him. Demon pulled a gun out of his back pocket and tossed it in as well before slamming the door shut and locking it again. He pulled out a second gun and pointed it at Batman's head, the smirk now gone from his face and a wild look in his eye. "The boy and your partner. Twenty minutes. If they don't kill each other before then, my friends here will do it for them."

* * *

Blink stumbled forward and fell to his knees as everything around him was plunged into complete darkness. His heart hammered in his chest, and he briefly wondered if Spot was getting help. Not that it would do them much good, he soon realized. Demon's voice echoed faintly from the other side of the door, and suddenly he understood what was going on. Things were about to "get interesting".

The sounds of shallow breathing matched his from somewhere on the other side of the crate. Tentatively, he reached his hands out in front of him and started to crawl forward. The fingers of his right hand brushed against something cold and metal. As they closed around it, his stomach lurched. _A gun_.

A strangled sound escaped his throat, and he heard something shift off to his left in response. "T-Tim?" he called out, feeling his voice crack with the effort. He stood and walked toward the sound, banging hard against something in the process. He swore under his breath as his hand found a wooden chair in his path. "Tim, is that you?" he called out again.

A faint voice finally responded from what he guessed was the far corner. "Blink?" Relief washed over him as he continued making his way in that direction. "Whaddaya doin' here?"

Blink gulped down the ache rising in his throat. "Death Ring, Race. You and me. Demon's pitted us against each other in a Death Ring match." When he reached what seemed like a wall, he turned his back to it and slid down, the gun clattering on the floor as he slumped over.

"What… What was dat?"

"A… A gun. There's a… a rope in here somewhere, too. Race… I'm not gonna like this, but… explain to me exactly what a… a Death Ring _is_."

There was a deep sigh from somewhere near his left shoulder before the answer came. "Dey… Dey stick two guys in a crate an' make 'em fight to da death. Sometimes, ta make it innerestin', dey put weapons in wit' 'em an' give 'em a time limit."

"I think Demon wants to make it interesting."

"Makes ya say dat?"

"He said we had twenty minutes before his goons did the job for us."

Race could be heard muttering various curses under his breath. Then there were some small scraping noises as – Blink assumed – he rose to his feet. "Wait, den dat gives us twenty minutes ta figure a way outta dis. Right?" Blink didn't answer right away, and he could hear the panic seep into the Italian's voice. "_Right_, Blink?"

"Race, I… I just don't _see_ any way out of this. I mean, it's not like I _want_ to try to kill you, but—"

"But ya already got da gun," Race finished coldly, the sound of his voice and footsteps moving slowly backward until a faint thump could be heard.

Blink choked on his reply. The sound of the gun sliding against the metal floor of the crate as he picked it up grated harshly on his nerves. His mind raced. Precious minutes dragged by before he finally pushed himself back up to his feet. The sounds of his own footsteps echoed ominously in his ears. With his left hand guiding him along the back of the crate and his right clutching the gun in a death grip, he made his way forward.

"Hey, Blink, c'mon now," Race pleaded, shuffling along the far wall back toward the door. "Don't play aroun' like dat. Dis ain't funny." There was a heavy thud accompanied by a panicked grunt, and then the sounds of scrambling and what sounded like something long and slender dragging along the floor. "Look, I know you's… You's probly mad at me. An' ya got every right, but… But… Blink, c'mon. Just put da gun down."

There was another soft thud as Race's back hit the front end of the crate. Blink's resolve wavered momentarily as he listened to his friend's pleas, but he blocked them out. The sound of the gun clicking resounded loudly in the close space as his thumb slid the hammer down. A string of expletives came from somewhere in front of him. He aimed the gun in that general direction. "Race," he gasped out, his breath coming short and fast. "Don't move…"

He squeezed the trigger. The shot went off louder than he expected. Someone yelled, though he wasn't sure who because his ears were ringing. The smell of gunpowder filled the air. In the brief flash of light, he saw the shocked expression on Race's face as he stood pressed against the door with the rope in his hands. And then all his senses were once more plunged into darkness.

"_Dammit, Blink!_"

Blink let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding and let the gun clatter to the floor. His hands were shaking and he felt dizzy. But he wasn't done yet. Shaking off the feelings of panic, he braced his feet a moment before charging toward the door. When he'd reached the other side – as best he could judge – he pitched his shoulder forward and slammed up against it.

The metal creaked as it gave way.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Please don't kill me. Reviews would be nicer. On a different note entirely, this story is now officially my longest. And when I say officially, I mean without author's notes and such. It currently stands at 24,706 words, whereas Despair's Edge, my only complete chaptered fic, wrapped up at 23,769. Naturally, what with my notoriously long AN's, it looks much longer on the site... But yeah. We've got four chapters for sure to go, five if I decide to do an Epilogue. But I don't know what it would be about yet, so I guess we'll just have to wait and see what the next few chapters look like. The titles are fun, and we've just hit the climax, so I'm really excited. OH! Speaking of which, I want to poll you guys. The next chapter, I have planned a very heated argument between Blink and Race (cuz you _know_ there is anger floating around right now). I also had this great conversation in my head for Bruce and Race, but I don't know if that would slow the plot down too much. Jason's death is coming up fast, and I just really don't want to slow things down with a bunch of dialogue. So here's my question: Include the Bruce/Race conversation, or make it a separate oneshot to preserve the pace of the fic? Let me know!


	15. Bad Joke

**Author's Note:** Hey, guys! As promised, the next chapter before I leave. We head out tomorrow afternoon, and won't be back until Sunday night. But don't worry! I'm bringing my trusty notebook along for the ride! As well as Anthony and Carlos, because I don't trust those two alone for five days... Anyhow, I should get a decent start on the next chapter. And this _should_ be the last time I go out of town this year. WARNING! This chapter gets very sad. Very. I don't know if I'd call it angst, exactly, but it's very serious stuff here. So much so, I almost wanted to avoid it. But it's a big part of the plot, so... There ya have it. Yeah, the entire thing is just absolutely full of serious sad things. Honestly, I have a love/hate relationship with this chapter. I'd do shoutouts, but I only had one reviewer this time around (many thanks to methegirl, and wonders where Eavis wandered off to...). Um... Hmm... Okay, last chapter was a cliffie, so I'll stop talking now and let you get to it.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Bad Joke**

_Spot's a genius when it comes ta angles an' geometry. But ain't nobody can beat Blink in a dark room. He's real good at judgin' distances an' space. Comes from bein' half blind most of his life, I s'pose. Give him a gun an' a blindfold, an' I seriously think he'd be da best shot in alla Gotham City._

_Which is why I couldn't fer da life'a me figure out why I wasn't dead on da spot._

_I heard da gun go off, den Blink yelled. I could feel da heat from da bullet right by my ear. An' dat's when I screamed at him. I heard his footsteps comin' at me fast, so I stepped outta da way. He slammed hard into da door shoulder first. It wasn't 'til 'bout den dat I saw what it was he was doin'._

_Dem shippin' crates dey use fer da Death Ring matches, dey's pretty old an' rusty. Da metal's real thin, an fer some reason most'a da gangs still use da original chains an' stuff ta keep 'em locked. Like I said b'fore, Blink's real good wit' spacin'. He'd chased me 'round da crate ta get an idea'a how big it was an' where da door was at. Den, wit' me backed up against it, he used my voice ta let him know where abouts ta aim. Dat numbskull actually did somethin' clever for once, shot t'rough da weak metal'a da door an' straight t'rough da chain keepin' it locked._

_Soon's I figured it out, I started throwin' myself against da door ta help him get it open. Didn't take us long, an' when we come stumblin' outta dere armed an' angry, dem freaks didn't have a clue what was goin' on._

_So dey finally caught Demon. Selina still managed ta get away somehow. Can't say I'm surprised. Spot an' Huntress kinda had deir hands full wit' da two'a Demon's goons an' den Demon himself. When Blink an' I busted out, he went right ta work._

_I gotta say, watchin' him fightin' alongside Bruce always did have me more'n a little worried. Dis whole t'ing, it was like a game ta him. I think, in da end, dat's what done it. Wasn't da Joker, an' it wasn't any'a us. He was reckless, thought he was invincible in dat costume'a his._

_Wasn't long b'fore we all figured out just how wrong he was…_

* * *

For the next several days, it was pretty obvious that Blink and Race were avoiding each other. And not just the awkward avoiding eye-contact or uncomfortable silences. The angry tension between them was almost visible to anyone else watching. The air became explosive every time their eyes met, and they made it a point not to speak directly to each other. The entire ordeal was really beginning to wear on Spot's nerves.

It was blatantly obvious why Race was upset with Blink. After all, the two of them had been best friends since before they could remember. And the question of whether or not Blink had actually _planned_ the whole thing out or was just making it up as he went was more than a little trust-shattering. A bit harder to pin down, though, was why Blink was upset with Race.

Truthfully, Spot wanted nothing more than to just smack the two of them and tell them to get over it already. But Oracle was in the process of getting him transferred to Blüdhaven, so he had a lot on his mind. He was going to be taking summer classes at a boarding school there so he could graduate early and enroll in the police academy. When they'd presented their plan to Bruce, he'd agreed that it was a good idea to have an inside advantage on the law enforcement. And even though they'd already caught Demon, Rhino was still at large, and Blüdhaven needed help anyway, so Spot had every intention of going through with it.

The only person who seemed to have any problem with the whole thing was Race, and it was making him even more irritable than was usual for him these days. Not only was he sour around Blink, he made sure Spot felt his disapproval at every opportunity. In general, he was particularly difficult to live with after the incident at the docks.

It was three days later, and Bruce could feel a storm brewing in the mansion. Tensions were high, tempers were short, and moods in general were at a record low. Spot made a point to get out as soon as he could, volunteering to go on patrol first thing in the morning and see if he could track down Catwoman. Since it didn't appear that the other boys were up yet, Bruce went down to the cave to call Oracle and see about some leads she had on the Joker – the first leads they'd had since Blink's accident. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he knew things were about to explode. He didn't know how, but he just knew.

* * *

Blink never was one to just let things hang between people for long periods of time. Mostly because he just couldn't keep things to himself or stay out of someone else's business. The fact that he had let Race alone for the most part for three days already was in itself impressive. But by now he'd had his fill, and even if it killed him, he was gonna settle it.

In a way, it was probably him feeling guilty about the whole thing. But he was angry. Angry at Race for being mad at him, for holding it against him. For not seeing that he had no other choice. For _making_ him feel guilty when every shred of reason told him that he did the right thing.

He knew that Spot had left early to avoid what they all knew was coming. He knew that Bruce was well outside of hearing distance. And he knew that Race was, in fact, awake. And so, when he was sure that Alfred wasn't going to interfere any time soon, he went and stood in the doorway to the other boy's room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and a dead-serious look in his eyes.

Race sat on the far edge of his bed with his back to the door, flipping absently through a book. If he knew Blink was standing there, he didn't acknowledge it. But the tension in the room spiked, and his shoulders and back visibly stiffened, so Blink figured that he probably did. Several moments of blaring silence passed as the air around them thickened. He could almost feel himself breathing in the animosity that hung between them. It made him sick. Not just because they were such good friends, but also because he didn't feel Race had the _right_ to be angry with him.

At last, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, he cleared his throat – only a little awkwardly – and stepped farther into the room. His tongue felt like a match, in the sense that, if he opened his mouth, he knew it would set off the explosion that was looming over the entire mansion. But he just couldn't keep it shut any longer.

"Look, Tim," he began softly, trying his best to hold his own anger in check, "I know you're upset, but—"

"But nuttin'," Race snapped, keeping his eyes trained pointedly on his book.

"Tim—"

"Don't call me dat."

"What?" Blink snapped right back. "Don't call you by your _legal name_? You gotta stop this. It's getting a little ridiculous."

"Nah, what's ridiculous is dat I don't even know any'a you's anymore." Race glanced briefly over his shoulder, his eyes dark and hard. "New place, new names, new habits… New people."

"Speaking of new people, you ain't exactly been yourself lately, either." Blink felt the hostility rising in his voice and knew that it was about to get ugly.

"At least I's got an excuse."

"No, that's the point, Race. You _don't_ have an excuse. You don't have anyone to blame for all this but yourself!"

At last, Race jumped to his feet and spun around to face him, slamming his book down on the floor in the process. His eyes burned fiercely. "No? It's all my fault, right? Right, Jason?"

"Race, that's not—"

"Not da point, right?" He shoved Blink in the chest a little, his voice rising. "Always 'not da point' wit' you. Well, you's gonna shut up an' listen ta me fer a change, or I swear, Jason, I'll punch yer lights out. Don't think I won't!" Blink swallowed his reply and nodded slightly. He could feel his face flush with rage.

"It ain't always my fault, ya know," Race went on. "Ya broke yer promise, Jason. Ya broke yer promise! Ya told him you's wouldn't get involved, an' ya went out dat night all da same. An' we didn't know if you's gonna make it. I was _worried_ 'bout you. _Spot_ was worried. We's already almost lost ya twice now."

"Race—"

"Don't interrupt me!" His fists clenched together as he gritted his teeth, daring Blink to speak again. When he didn't, he continued once more. "I couldn't take it. Jason, I… I couldn't _take_ it. Dat's why I went lookin'. I's lookin' fer _somethin'_ remotely familiar ta take my mind off it all. I went in too deep. But it _ain't my fault!_"

A sudden silence fell between them, Race's last words ringing in the empty air for several moments. The two of them stood, toe to toe with their faces close together, in the center of the room, staring each other down. Blink gulped at the dryness in his throat. "Are you finished?"

"For now, yeah."

"Good." With that, he shoved Race backward, towering over him in a menacing stance. "Then it's my turn. And this time, actually _listen_. That ain't what's been eating at you. We've been over this so many times. You keep saying that it wasn't your fault, that you didn't ask for this. But it's not _getting_ us anywhere. I think it's just your way of avoiding the actual issue. Something's been bothering you since we _got_ here, and I think there's more to it than Bruce lying to us. Because, since we've been here, that's all you've done, is lie to me and Spot. And frankly, I'm sick of it. I wanna hear the truth from you for once."

"Well, I don't give a flyin' crap what you want from me, Jason."

"The hell you don't!"

"I sure as _hell_ don't! An' I don't understand why _you_ give a crap."

"Because I care about you."

Race scoffed. "Yeah, sure."

"I _do_, you bonehead! What, can't get it through your thick skull that someone might actually _care_ about you..."

"Shut _up_, Jason." Race sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Look, I know we's been friends since b'fore either'a us can remember, but dere's just some things you ain't never gonna understand 'bout me, no matta how hard ya try. One'a dose things is dat I don't trust people very easily. Ever since da day my own mudder left me sittin' on some doorstep, I just don't take ta trustin' others like most people do. I trusted Cowboy, cuz he took me in when I needed help, an' now dat trust has been broken." He looked up, his eyes going cold. "I trusted _you_, cuz you's my only friend fer a while. I thought I could always count on you, Jason, but… You's somebody different now. An' I ain't so sure I like it. I know I _definitely_ don't like havin' a gun aimed at me."

"Race, I told you—"

"You didn't tell me nuttin'!" Race shouted, shoving him again. "Ya think you's so perfect in dat ridiculous costume'a yours? Think you's invincible or somethin'? Dat ya got all da answers? I got news for ya. You _ain't_. Ya sit here an' tell me dat what I did was stupid, an' ya keep remindin' me 'bout it as if I could do somethin' 'bout it. Well, if dat's da case, den why don't ya go an' fix your own stupid mistake? Huh? Cuz dat's what started all'a dis in da first place, anyway! Your one, stupid, lousy mistake!"

The blonde's green eyes blinked in surprise for a moment as he processed what Race had just said. The two of them stood facing each other, harsh words hanging in the air between them. Race was breathing heavily, a brief flash of pain crossing his face as his lungs hitched against his bruised ribs. Finally, Blink dropped his gaze and looked away. "You called me Jason," he remarked softly.

"What?"

"You didn't call me Blink. You called me Jason. You _never_ call me Jason."

Race paused a moment before answering, realizing the change for the first time himself. "Well, da way I figure," he said at last, "I shouldn't call ya somthin' ya ain't. An' you certainly ain't da same kid I grew up wit'." He turned around, his tone as bitter as his gaze, and bent over to pick up the book on the floor. A couple of rattling coughs followed as his breath finally caught up with him. "I think you should go."

"But, Race—"

"Just go!"

* * *

Had either of the boys so much as a foreboding of what was to happen later that night, then perhaps at least one of them would have steered the conversation in a much safer direction. But as it was, neither of them had a clue.

Given the severity of Race's mood, Blink was quick to oblige him in his last request. The shouting and the cold words rang harshly in his ears. He felt more than a little guilty about the whole thing, but at this point he had no hope of straightening things out until Race had calmed down considerably. Which wasn't likely to happen any time soon. And so he left the mansion, looking for a little fresh air and some space to cool his own temper, venturing out into the maze of alleyways and backroads that was Gotham City.

He stayed out all day and late into the night, mulling over the entire situation in his head and searching for some way to regain his friend's trust. Trust, as he saw it, was a tricky thing to deal with. And he'd made a pretty big mistake the other night, he was willing to admit. But in his defense he was under a lot of pressure at the time. He never did work well under pressure.

Why couldn't Race just see that? Why couldn't they just forgive each other and go back to the way things used to be? Blink kicked lazily at a piece of rubble in the alley and stopped to lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings. He'd been walking all day, and by now he had no clue where he was, though he had no doubt he could find his way back to the mansion without too much trouble if he really tried. But his mind wasn't on that at the moment, so he was rather effectively lost. He sighed and rubbed at his left eye. Maybe Race was right. Maybe they _had_ all changed too much.

A strange feeling settled in the pit of his stomach just then. At first he wasn't sure what it was. But then a shadow fell across him from the entrance to the alley. He turned to see a tall, slender silhouette standing on the sidewalk, armed with what appeared to be a crowbar in one hand and a gun in the other. Pushing himself quickly to his feet, he turned the other way – only to find that he'd wandered absently into a dead-end alley. His heart dropped in his chest.

A gratingly familiar voice sounded from behind him, sending chills up his spine. "Well, what have we here?" He turned, his shoulders tense, to meet the disturbing gaze of the garish being that stood between him and his only escape. "I've been following you, little birdy, and you seem to be lost."

"The Joker," Blink intoned calmly. "What are you talking about?"

Something about that must have been funny, because the Joker started cackling madly, waving his gun around like a complete lunatic as he slowly made his way farther into the alley. "_You,_ little birdy. Wandering so far from home." His maniacal grin grew even wider, if that was even possible. "Something tells me you need some _sense_ beat into ya!"

Blink just shrugged, trying to keep his panic down and wishing that he'd at least thought to bring his alert beacon with him. "'Little birdy'? I'm not sure I follow."

"Ha! Of course you don't. I did. Now let's see if we can… jog that memory of yours."

The first strike was expected. But the alley was narrow, and Blink had nowhere to go.

The second was sudden and sent him sprawling to his hands and knees.

The third made his vision blur.

The fourth started an incessant ringing in his head.

The fifth sent him all the way to the ground, and he could no longer feel his right leg.

The sixth elicited the first of several guttural screams for mercy.

The seventh broke several ribs, and made him think of Race and his poor breathing.

The eighth shattered his left arm, and he could hear the Joker laughing madly at the sound of cracking bones.

The ninth sent his body into a numb shock.

The tenth he barely felt, but the effects he was sure were devastating.

The eleventh took him exactly six seconds to register.

The twelfth stopped the ringing in his head, but caused him to see stars in his swiftly-fading vision.

The thirteenth blow stole his consciousness.

He wasn't even aware of when his heart stopped.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I kinda wanted to do something that would mirror the way it was done in the comics. I haven't actually _read_ A Death in the Family, but I saw a scan of the page where the Joker is beating him, and it just shows a series a panels all focusing on the Joker swinging the crowbar, so you don't actually see him getting hit. The whole thing is left to the reader's imagination. I kinda wanted something similar here, and I hope I've achieved that instead of just boring you. Anyhow, as you can tell, the conversation between Bruce and Race will take place in a related oneshot much the same as Dead Center and Death in the Family (my story, not the comic arc. Man that's confusing...). Uh, next three chapters are gonna wrap it all up. Fifteen is the funeral, sixteen will see Spot make his decision about whether to stay or go, and seventeen is Race's ultimate turning point in the series. I really hope you guys are as excited as I am, because I am within spitting distance of finishing this thing, which absolutely _never_ happens to me. Like, ever. Anyhow, please please _please_ review, it makes my day, and I will still receive them even if I'm not at home. I have my phone, which has e-mail on it, so send me love while I'm away! Oh, and carry the banner!


	16. Blink Out

**Author's Note:** I deeply apologize for how long it took me to finish this chapter. I really have been working on it for the two weeks it's taken, I promise. My excuse? I realized while trying to write this that I hate writing funerals (even though this is my first). So I was trying to find a creative way to _avoid_ writing it. In the end... I hate this chapter. I truly do. I hate it, I hate how it turned out, I hate how long it took. But honestly, it fits real well, and I just want to finish this story and move on to the next part. So... Here it is. I'm sorry you guys waited two weeks just for this piece of crap. I truly am. The next chapter _will_ be better, I promise, as will the one after. I've been waiting the entire story just to get to these last two chapters. I am so psyched! You guys'll have to let me know whether you think I should do an epilogue at the end, cuz honestly that's still waaaay up in the air...

Oh, and wish me leg-breakings. Hi-Tops is opening tonight. You know, that old 80s movie that Crystal Lewis was in? Well, turns out David Sidoni was also in an early stage run. And my theatre group is performing it this weekend. It's my last show for what will probably be a good long time. I just feel like I'm being led in other directions right now, and theatre has kinda run my life for the past five years. Time to move on. Anyway, enough about that. Here's the crap. I mean, chapter...

* * *

**Chapter 15: Blink Out**

_When I's maybe five or six, my mudder left me on da doorstep'a some orphanage somewhere in Manhattan. I ain't really sure exactly where it was, 'cause I got outta dere as soon's I could. But while I was dere, I met dis other kid dere, 'bout my age. His parents'd died when he's real little, so he'd already been dere awhile. Whoever was in charge'a da place b'fore I got dere was in da habit'a beatin' da kids. Dat's how he lost da sight in his left eye._

_Not dat our new caretaker was all dat much better. Couple years later, I just couldn't stay dere no longer. So I split. I couldn't bring myself ta leave him dere by himself, though. So when I split, I took him wit' me. It's like I said b'fore, tragedy an' loss gotta way'a bringin' people together._

_We became near inseparable, sleepin' on da streets an' watchin' each other's backs. I can't count da number'a times we helped each other dodge outta goin' to da Refuge. An' when he got a job sellin' papes for da _World_, he dragged me along wit' him. We even shared a bunk at da lodgin' house, spendin' out nights up late talkin' 'bout where we'd be when we finally got da money ta get out. He'd always wanted ta live in Gotham, where everythin' was s'posed ta be so much more excitin'. An' he had every intention'a takin' me wit' him. So he could keep an eye on me an' my gamblin', he said._

_He really did care 'bout me. An' it weren't as if I didn't know. But I t'rew it in his face all da same. If I'd known what was gonna happen dat night… Well, honestly, I still probly woulda said it. But I sure hope I'd'a tried harder ta resolve it. Dis… whatever-it-was dat had come between us._

_Part'a me wonders if maybe it mighta been jealousy…_

Nightwing was on patrol late that night when he found the body in the alley. The Joker's gun – the one with the red **BANG!** flag sticking out of the nozzle – lay on the ground next to a bloody crowbar. Sprawled across the alley floor was the ragged, still form of Jason Todd.

At first, Spot just stood there and stared, tapping his cane against the brick wall of the alley like a blind man – if for no other reason than to hear the reassuringly familiar sound in order to keep himself rooted in his sanity. His chest felt constricted, like he'd just been punched hard in the gut and was having trouble drawing a decent breath. Nausea churned his stomach. He could hardly believe the amount of blood he saw splattered across the ground before him.

Slowly, his mouth formed the name, though no coherent sound came out. The faintest hint of distant laughter reached his ears as he slowly made his way into the alley, a heart-wrenching ache forming in the back of his throat. It wasn't supposed to go like this. It was _never_ supposed to be like this. When his feet finally stopped before the unmoving figure, he dropped heavily to his knees.

_Why?_

The one question on his mind, the one thing he couldn't answer and now might never be able to. His hands stretched out to touch the cold, beaten flesh and his training kicked in to replace the lucid thinking that seemed to have escaped him. _No pulse. Eyes closed. Unconscious at time of death. No sign of a gunshot wound. Uniform's still intact. Must've been wearing it under his clothes. But no belt. Would explain why there was no alert signal. But why no belt? Did he really leave the house in such a hurry?_

And then the whole thing hit him like a wave of emotion breaking against a rock. He collapsed to the ground beside Blink and screamed, pounding at the unyielding ground in an angry torrent of frustration. Pain twisted his stomach and seemed to strip his soul bare. He slapped a hand on the lifeless chest beside him, willing some flutter of movement into it. He shook the stiff form desperately, his own body trembling with longing and fear. A series of cold shivers moved along his spine as he muttered various curses and pleas under his breath. All to no avail.

Finally, at a complete loss and incapable of any kind of further logical thought process, he reached down to his own belt and hit the alert signal, curling himself up against the cold brick wall of the alley to wait. His uniform was caked with blood and dirt, but he hardly noticed. He saw nothing but the dead body. His own body had gone numb, his fingers icy and tingling. Cold, pitiless rain began to fall in a steady downpour, but he didn't feel it.

He couldn't help but think that he should have been there. That somehow he could have done something to prevent it. Maybe, if he hadn't copped out that morning, if he'd stayed to mediate instead of running out… That was really the only explanation for why Blink was out here in the first place. Race had been fairly fuming by that morning. There was no telling what he'd said to drive Blink out of the house. Spot hung his head despondently. He'd felt the tension building, but he'd done nothing about it. This was all his fault.

Unless…

His thoughts wandered back to Race and the argument that he knew they must have had. The selfish prick never could think of anyone but himself… Blaming Race didn't make him feel much better, but the thought _did_ help him see that maybe it wasn't _entirely_ his fault. His chest heaved gently as he choked back the growing lump in his throat.

One year was all it had taken for everything he knew to change more drastically then he could ever have anticipated.

* * *

When the news finally came back to the mansion that Kid Blink had been found dead, Race didn't say a word. Instead, he shut himself up in his room and waited for Spot and Bruce to get back. He figured he'd probably catch it from Spot for driving Blink out of the house. But for once he didn't care. In fact, he rather felt that he deserved it.

It wasn't so much that he regretted what he'd said to Blink. He'd meant every word. What he did regret, though, was that they were the last words he'd said.

Spot and Bruce were both covered in blood and dirt when they finally made it back. It made Race shudder to imagine why. He and Alfred had received a fairly decent report on what had happened, and just that was enough to churn his stomach. Needless to say, he was glad they hadn't brought the body back with them.

For the next hour, Spot locked himself up in the bathroom – _not_ the one they usually used, Race noted – and seemed to be attempting to scrub that night out of his skin along with the blood stains and mud. The noise of running water wasn't nearly loud enough to completely cover over the sounds of retching that occasionally punctuated it. Under normal circumstances – if _any_ situation similar to this could be considered normal – Race might have made some sarcastic comment about Spot's behavior. But tonight, he just couldn't.

In fact, for the next few days, right up until after the funeral, he couldn't even look the other boy in the eyes. And the fact that Spot still hadn't said anything about the argument only served to make the guilt and shame even harder to deal with. Even Bruce hadn't said anything to him. The one time he felt he deserved a lecture of some sort, and he wasn't even given the satisfaction of a snide remark.

His heart sank even lower when he realized that, even after the funeral and everything that had happened, the explosive atmosphere in the mansion still hadn't completely diffused. And that meant only one thing. Things were about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

**A/N:** GAH! I told you... (sigh) Well, at any rate, we can now move forward. Just two more chapters to go, you guys! (insert nifty Roundhouse-style dance bumper here, preferrably one with Ivan in it...) Anyways, review if you like. I'm gonna go work on the next chapter...

P.S. DO NOT WISH ME LUCK! I'm a theatre kid through and through, and very superstitious about stuff like that. We have proof that it's bad luck, so please say break a leg or something along those lines. Thank you! :)


	17. Changing Spots

**Author's Note:** Ha! See what I can accomplish when I'm not all blocked up? Anyhow, I just realized I didn't do shoutouts AGAIN! So here we are. To methegirl: Okay, okay, so it wasn't _awful_. It just really didn't go at all the way I wanted it to. And man, I think you might be taking this harder than I did when the idea first came to me. At first I was like, "Noooooo! I can't DO that!" But of course, it wouldn't go away... And here we are now. To Eavis: Erm... I don't know how much I can help you with that. Uh... Maybe in the next one? I hope... And thank you so very much. Your prayers were definitely appreciated. And I _totally_ understand about the whole drama camp/performances thing. So no worries, dear!

Alrighty, guys, here we are. You may notice a small pattern developing with the chapter titles for these last few. That was totally intentional. I'm really excited, you guys, like seriously. I'll tell you why in a moment, but first, I'll let you read the chapter...

* * *

**Chapter 16: Changing Spots**

_Ya know, when I think back on dat night, sometimes I still can't b'lieve it really happened. I mean, I's known Kid Blink almost my whole life. An' den one day, he's just… Gone._

_It was a real painful week, makin' arrangements an' such. Da funeral was nice enough. Some kids from school showed up, an' a bunch'a people dat Bruce knew. But none'a Blink's real friends was dere. Somehow, it just didn't feel right._

_Not dat we really coulda had 'em dere anyway. Kinda funny, New York just seemed ta keep gettin' farther an' farther away da longer we stayed in Gotham. It was at dat point where what used'ta be new didn't quite feel like a dream no more. Now, everythin' dat came b'fore feels like da dream. Or however ya wanna put it._

_An' it turns out my world weren't finished turnin' itself upside down quite yet. Ta make t'ings worse, Spot was still plannin' on leavin' for Blüdhaven. Less'n a week afta da funeral. Ya b'lieve dat? If ya ask me, an' fer some reason not a lotta people do, I t'ink dat Oracle girl gots a bit too much influence on 'im. But, a'course, ya try'n tell him dat, an' he just 'bout flies off da handle. I's thinkin' he really likes her. Too bad I don't._

_Times like dis I curse da day my lungs stopped workin'. I's an absolute wreck wit'out a smoke ta calm my nerves. Cowboy's got me doin' some light trainin', though. Just ta help wit' my breathin', really. Somethin' 'bout Blink's death set him off. I's actually surprised he was still plannin' on lettin' Spot leave, what wit' how protective he was gettin' wit' me._

_But, surprise or no, he was all da same…_

* * *

The reverberating echo of the suitcase's clicking locks brought an ominous feeling of finality into the now-bare room. Spot let out a sigh to suppress the ache rising in his chest, though it did little to ease the lump in his throat. He knew he was doing the right thing, leaving for Blüdhaven. According to Oracle, if he didn't leave sometime this week, he'd be too late to register for his summer classes. But the fact that it was so soon after the funeral – not to mention that he would now be leaving Race alone with Bruce – had him feeling more than a little guilty. It was becoming an all-too-familiar feeling since coming to Gotham. One that he was learning to accept – and, for the most part, ignore.

Though he still had to remind himself almost constantly that he was, in fact, doing the right thing. He drew in a deep breath and turned to take in the empty room that had been his for the last year. Things were going to be very different in Blüdhaven. For one, he'd be on his own. Completely. That hadn't happened since shortly after his parents were killed. And even then, it wasn't nearly the same kind of on-your-own as this was going to be. This was a kind of legal independence with something in front of him to actually shoot for.

For another thing, he was going to be entirely alone. Well, Blüdhaven was a pretty big city in itself. But for once in his life, he wouldn't have any of his friends around. So it was also a kind of social independence, as well. He'd never admit it to anyone, but the thought had him fairly terrified.

And just a little bit nervous, as was demonstrated by the fact that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Race suddenly appeared at his doorway, knocking lightly to get his attention.

"Spot?" the Italian boy asked, sounding almost shocked by what he saw. "Whaddaya doin'?"

"I'm packing," Spot replied shortly, turning around to stuff the last of his things into another suitcase.

Race shook his head, as if trying to process what he'd just been told. Whether the whole ordeal had actually shaken him up that badly, or he really had expected Spot to change his mind and stay, he couldn't tell. But either way, Spot felt that familiar twinge of guilt at the expression on the other boy's face. "Packin'," Race said slowly, seeming to roll the word around in his mind like he was searching for its meaning. "But… Why?"

With a sigh, Spot stopped what he was doing and turned to face him. "You know why, Tim."

Dark eyes narrowed dangerously at him. "Ya still leavin', den?"

The rather sudden shift in mood threw Spot a little off balance. He didn't answer for several seconds. "Yes," he replied at last. "I am."

"Coward," Race spat, a sneer twisting across his face. "Runnin' away, leavin' us here alone—"

"That's not it, and you know it."

"Do I? Do I, Dick? Cuz from where I's standin', I ain't hearin' a lot in da way'a explanations from you no more."

"I don't have to explain myself to you," Spot said calmly. Race was angry, that much was clear. But it was entirely possible he was simply feeling guilty and looking for somewhere to let loose. In which case, Spot concluded, encouraging him was probably not the best option.

"What, so dis whole thing is my fault now, right?"

"I didn't say that."

"No, but you's sure's hell thinkin' it."

"And how do you know that if I didn't say it?"

"Ya don't gotta say it. Just da fact dat you ain't said one word ta me since it happened tells me all I need ta know."

Spot let out another sigh and shook his head. He hated being right about these sorts of things. "Race, nobody blames you for what happened, okay?"

"Yeah, an' why not?" Race's voice rose in volume as he spoke, fists clenched defiantly at his sides. "Why not blame it on me? You's been doin' dat wit' everythin' else. So why not dis time? Huh? Why not just say what you's thinkin'? Dat it shoulda been me? Why not?"

"Because it shouldn't have been any of us!" Spot yelled out, stopping the tirade short. Race set his jaw as the pair stood facing off, clearly wanting to say more but waiting to see what Spot would do next. After a few moments of tense silence, Spot continued in a much softer tone. "It shouldn't have been any of us. This wasn't _supposed_ to happen. _This_ was precisely why Bruce didn't want us to get involved in the first place. Alright? For once, you were smart enough to stay out of it. It _could_ have been you. Easily. Or me, even easier. But it _wasn't_. Okay? It was _him_. And it was nobody's fault. Not yours, not mine, not even his. It just _happened_. Things like this _happen_ here."

A heavy silence hung between them, the air in the room going completely still. Neither of them moved for what seemed like an eternity as their gazes locked in a wordless battle of wills. Race had his mouth clamped shut tight, as if he was afraid to open it and say something he'd later regret, but his glare didn't soften in the slightest. Spot gave an internal nod of approval. _Good,_ he thought to himself, if a little bitterly. _He's learning._

Eventually, though, it seemed he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "Ya can't just go runnin', Spot," he said firmly, refusing to back down. "Not so soon afta…" He trailed off, leaving the thought unsaid.

Spot just shook his head. "I'm not running, Tim. And I don't have to explain myself to you. Bruce agrees with my decision."

"Dat's just it, though. It _ain't_ your decision."

"This is about Babs, isn't it?"

"No, dis ain't _about_ her."

Finally breaking gaze, Spot rolled his eyes and seated himself carefully among the various pieces of luggage on the bed, pulling out his cane and twirling it thoughtfully in his hands. The gold tip caught the dim light and sparkled faintly as it spun. "Barbara didn't make this decision," he answered carefully, deliberately, without looking up to return the sharp glare he knew he was receiving. "I did. I decided that this was the best use of my skills, and it just so happens that now is the best time to make it work."

"Spot, c'mon," Race argued. His tone didn't show how desperate he was, but his words certainly did. "Ya said yourself it easily coulda been you. Just stay here til dis whole t'ing blows over."

Spot's eyes narrowed, but his gaze remained on the cane in his hands. "I can't do that, Tim. That _would_ be cowardly. If we stoop to their level, if we respond to their threats… Well, then, they win. And I'll be hanged if I let the likes of _him_ get the advantage over me."

Another silence descended on them, but this one was much less intense. Spot's words hung indignant in the air, signaling some kind of resolution between them. Race seemed to be floundering for something else to say. "Fine," he sputtered at last, folding his arms defiantly across his chest. "Go on an' go. See if I care. Ain't like I need ya here, anyway, lookin' over my shoulder all'a time. But just so's we're clear, I think you's a right prick for leavin' like dis."

Without waiting for a reply, Race turned and stormed off down the hall, the sounds of his retreating footsteps echoing loudly in the otherwise-silent mansion. Spot let out a deep breath, his chest humming softly as Race's words rolled around in his head. So the little Italian thought he was a prick. He closed his eyes and just breathed for a moment, letting the words fall right out of his thoughts. After all, it wasn't the first time Race had told him his decisions were poor – in similar terms. And it probably wouldn't be the last.

Besides, he knew he was doing the right thing.

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, I _so_ wanted them to come to blows by the end of this, but sadly Race was in more of a pouty mood than a fighting one, which left Spot to initiate, and that would have totally blown all character development that he's had this entire story right out the window. Of course we can't have that, but don't worry. Race is much feistier in the sequel, so there will be plenty of action.

Alright, a couple of things. First off, I have decided _not_ to do an epilogue. Originally I was toying with the idea of ending it the way it started, with a first-person POV epilogue like the prologue. But I'm afraid I might not have enough material. So, to keep with the whole full-circle idea, I'm just going to do the last chapter entirely in first-person (seeing as how I'm also out of things for Race to say in his opening monologue). Which brings me nicely to another point. The next chapter will, in fact, be the last chapter of this story. Now, that does _not_ mean that the story is, in fact, over. Oh, far from it! I'm going to start working on Take a Dive right away (I already have the first chapter done!), which kinda takes place during the first half of this one, and I'll also be working sporadically on Ghosts at the same time (though I won't actually be posting it until Take a Dive is finished), which takes place something like six months after. Keep an eye out, because Take a Dive will be posted in the Newsies category, while Ghosts will be posted in the Batman Begins/Dark Knight category. Actually, as a matter of fact, I don't think I'm posting another story in the crossover category until Hush, which is WAAAAAY down the line. So anyhow, I hope you guys have enjoyed this as much as I have, and I hope you are as excited as I am. Please review!


	18. Off to the Races

**Author's Note:** Alright, guys, this is it! Last chapter. In the words of the Joker, "And here we... go."

* * *

**Chapter 17: Off to the Races**

Spot shipped out da next day. I ain't seen or heard from him since. Not dat I particularly want to. It was his choice ta leave, an' I didn't do nuttin' ta stop him. But I still think it was da wrong move, him just up an' leavin' right afta… Well, afta what happened. Guess I shoulda expected it. I mean, afta all, he had himself a reputation back in Brooklyn fer bein' cold-hearted. So why should t'ings be any diff'rent in Gotham?

Summer here seems hotter'n back in New York somehow. Even though dis is really only my second. I dunno, dere's just somethin' oppressive 'bout da air here, like it's pressin' down aroun' yer ears. 'Specially in da Narrows. Yeah, I know whatcha thinkin'. Wit' Spot an' Blink both gone, I's left ta my own devices. But I swear, I been clean da last few weeks since Spot left. Doin' a little scoutin' fer Bruce every once in a while, just passin' through, ya know?

Me'n Cowboy… Now dat's anudder story. I guess I still ain't _entirely_ over da whole lyin' t'ing. But I can look past it just enough ta live wit'. Death's a sure way'a puttin' t'ings in perspective. Sure got me thinkin'. All da same, though, forgivin's one t'ing. Forgettin's somethin' else. We's workin' on it, though.

Actually, ta tell ya da truth, afta everythin' dat's happened, I's realized I never really got what I came out here for in da first place. S'why I's still here. Even though, in da summer, it's hot as hell. Fella gets used to it. Nah, I's still lookin' fer da answer ta dat burnin' question. Jack Kelly, Bruce Wayne… Who is he, really? I gotta feelin' dat sittin' 'round da mansion by myself all'a time ain't gonna get me dose answers.

Much's Spot tried ta convince me it weren't my fault, I just can't help feelin' guilty 'bout what happened. Now, Spot I don't mind bein' mad at fer any amount'a time. But I kinda feel like I owe Cowboy. An' dis is one debt I got every intention'a payin' back. So dat's why I told him da other day dat, if he'd let me, I'd like ta try an' take Blink's place.

I can't really say I's not surprised when he agreed. Not dat I was hopin' he wouldn't or anythin'. But da fact dat I know dis whole t'ing's been real hard on him certainly made me wonder if he'd let me. Spot was right 'bout one t'ing. Dis _is_ da reason he tried ta hide it all from us in da first place. An' part'a me was wantin' ta just forget da whole t'ing an' go right back ta New York, so's he wouldn't have no one else ta worry 'bout no more.

But I made it dis far. An' I stuck it out pretty well. Sure, I's just a bit worse fer wear, I mean, dat brush wit' Demon was a bit… intense. But I's still da only one's lasted dis long. An' I remember dat feelin' I got when he first ast me ta come wit' him. Dat feelin' like he was part'a somethin' bigger'n all'a us. Dat need ta know what it was. Ta be in on it. Dis here's my chance, an' probly da only one I's ever gonna get.

A'course, he gave me a list'a conditions ta go 'long wit' his consent. First off, he ain't gonna let me go out wit' him 'til my breathin' gets back ta some kinda normal. He's been runnin' me t'rough some trainin', an' it's gettin' better. But we's goin' ta see Tommy Elliot next week, see if maybe dere's some way'a gettin' me back on track sooner. Lemme tell ya, I ain't never had ta work toward somethin' like dis in my life. It's gotta be, by far, da most tirin' experience'a my life. But somethin' tellin' me it'll be worth it in da end.

Anudder t'ing he wants me ta work on is losin' my accent. Off da job, anyways. Says it's too distinctive or somethin', makes it easy ta pin my identity. One'a da hardest t'ings I ever had ta do. But I guess, if Spot an' Blink could manage it, den so can I.

His last two conditions though, I think, were da ones dat really made me stop an' consider what it was I's gettin' myself into. It wasn't his original "don't put yourself into unnecessary danger" thing. I mean, honestly, I think dat one kinda goes wit'out sayin' at dis point. Nah, dis time he actually ast me ta quit gamblin'. Me. Of all people. An' I straight up told him, I said, "Cowboy, dis ain't no light request, ya un'erstand." I mean, dat's like… I dunno, tellin' a fish not ta swim or somethin'. He says it's fer my own good. An' I guess I can _kinda_ see where it may've caused some trouble in da past…

Okay, okay, I know it's a justified request. An' b'fore ya ask, a'course I agreed to it. I ain't no total bonehead. But da one t'ing he ast me dat I think I's gonna have da most trouble wit' is ta quit smokin'. I done… Well, pretty good so far since Murder Alley. I ain't sayin' just _how_ good. 'Cuz, I mean, like, dat's kinda _my_ business an' all. But it ain't been easy, what I _have_ done. An' I gotta feelin' it ain't about ta get any easier. But we'll see.

So, lemme see. Been 'bout a year now. Maybe a little more. Made a few friends. An' yeah, as a matter'a fact, I _do_ count dem boys from Murder Alley's my friends. Some'a dem boys was a'right. Like Twitch. Snake, I ain't so sure 'bout at dis point, but dat ain't here or dere. Twitch was a good kid, though. Little messed up in da head sometimes, but decent enough. He'd tell it to a guy straight, he would. Can't say da same fer most'a dem kids down dere. But some'a dem… Whole diff'rent story when you's actually seen it, 'stead'a just goin' off'a what folks tell ya. An' dat ain't somethin' dat Spot or Cowboy's likely ta un'erstand anytime soon.

I been watchin'. Like I said, I been doin' some light scoutin' over dat way. It's lookin' like Rhino's tryin' ta get his boys back together. Kinda hard ta do, wit' most of 'em behind bars. He's havin' ta pull a lotta new recruits in. An' dat's likely ta spell trouble eventually. He ain't been able ta track me down yet. I still dunno if he knew I was da one dat got his boys sent off ta da slammer. I's hopin' not. 'Cuz if he ever finds out I crossed him… Well, let's say it'll be like da whole incident wit' Demon all over again. Not dat it was really my fault, but in dis kinda situation, a guy can't be too careful.

I's in da process'a settin' me up a system. Ya know, some inside info so's I can keep an eye on Rhino. Bruce don't know 'bout it yet. But I gotta feelin' he'll find out eventually. An' I can't help thinkin' he ain't gonna be happy 'bout it, either. But ya know, he gots his way'a doin' t'ings, an' I got mine. An' when it comes down to it, only thing dat matters is dat da job gets done.

* * *

**A/N:** First of all, I want to thank everyone for their reviews: Puppet, Blinksgoil92, and especially Paige and Eavis for your continued support and feedback. Next, I want to thank all my ghost readers (those of you reading without reviewing). The fact that this story has so many hits still makes me very happy. This has been an absolutely amazing experience, and I'm so glad I was able to finally finish this. And it didn't take me two years, either!

Now for a little parting trivia. According to Microsoft Word, this story is precisely 32k words long (about 69 pages, with the last paragraph on page 70). Obviously, I am extremely long-winded because the site has it at roughly 40k words. This is my longest story, and didn't take me nearly as long to finish as my only other complete chapter-fic, Despair's Edge. Because of Race's accent, there were so many "spelling and grammar mistakes" that the Word spellcheck actually overloaded. When I wrote the prologue, I had only seen Newsies twice. Race was instantly the most easily remembered character, with Spot and Blink taking close second. This was the sole reason they ended up in this story. At the time, I had intended to have more of the newsies accompany Bruce back to Gotham, and then I got the brilliant idea: What if one of them discovers his secret and ends up becoming Robin? Of course, I still had Race in mind for this. And then, as it developed in my head, I realized that I could easily do the entire Robin mythos using the three I had already chosen. And this was all before the first chapter was written. I never intended for Race to sit out on the whole Robin thing. That just kinda happened when I was writing the chapter where Blink winds up in the hospital. I also intended for the arguments to be much more physically involved, but somehow Race kept coming off as more whiny than I intended, so... Yeah, it never quite happened. I realize that they do a lot of arguing here. Not quite sure what that's about, honestly. Um... The prologue for the sequel, Ghosts, was actually written when I was less than halfway through my outline. The first chapter of Take a Dive, the companion piece, was written shortly after that, and will be posted soon. Um... Some of the stuff he says at the end actually won't come into play until House of Cards, the companion piece to Ghosts, but I may actually write that one alongside Ghosts rather than waiting for it to finish. I haven't decided yet. I'm very excited for it, though. Anyhow, thank you so much again for reading, and I hope to hear from you again soon. Remember to keep your eyes peeled for Take a Dive, and keep on Carryin' the Banner!

~Rags


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